Love in a Box

Do you remember 

boring days or journeys 

we’d take an object

any object,

place it on a pedestal of grey 

cells and tell it 

‘You can be anything.’

We’d reveal the world 

that awaited it, transformations

it would undergo to reach 

its protean potential. 

A book would be 

a doorstop; bi-plane 

chock block; a hat to shelter 

under; a make-shift hammer. 

The list went on and so did our

imaginations.

But the zenith of all

Our ruminations

was the humble box.

The unrivalled joy 

of its reality… the solid-

ifying of thoughts to

tangible pleasures.

A carton water bomb dropped

from the upstairs window

to splatter the path below;

a match pack jewellery box, 

or rattle, a bed for a doll;

The wonder of a packing case

that erased your teenage  

cool exterior, enticed

you to crawl inside, uninhibited,

to sit in pride of place

in the heart 

of the kitchen floor.

I remember 

and when I see 

patisserie housed 

in boxes, surrounded

by waves of love, 

I think of you, so far away 

and hope you’ve flown 

your box-rocket to the moon 

and reached your Zenith.