The dusty taste of chalk and the smell
of a friendly old blanket on the floor.
Milky sun through flappy plastic windows.
Browning sellotape framing where it tore.
Built from a car crate, the splinters
made the games more real.
The bridge of a battleship. Calling the shots.
A hospital ward. To heal.
Tattooed in spray-painted markings.
A gang hideout’s graffiti.
Hieroglyphics on a tomb.
A cube-shaped hole in reality.
A stolen treasure map.
Aliens warn ‘stay away’
which ever-changed unpredictably
to fill a few hours a day.
And filling that cube, stuff
discarded and broke.
With shape-changing magic
new lives awoke.
My machine gun a far cry
from its broom former self.
The book food, treasure, bomb
Too much fun for a shelf.
We dreamt it. We felt it. We knew it.
So we ate it, and hid it, and threw it.
Pirate ship. Space station. Fort.
War won. Earth saved. Plank walked.