Dragged over broken concrete
behind closed doors
just in, another bin bag.
Jacket, not waterproof, torn yes
but in my pockets half a can
and that smoke that fell from me.
Earring trapped in the lining
cosy in its own fur coat, more
rollies in the bashed baccy tin.
Sleeping bag, was blue.
White tin mug, few stains I admit
but well handled. Blanket nicked.
That wet grey jumper needs to weep
some more on someone’s radiator,
couple of tops, one logo might fancy you.
Take it, no name, no label, just leave
mind the broken step and straighten that
fallen black letter ‘cos I’m funny
No one will notice the passing.
Hazel Mason was a sister in the NHS and is now a “vocal opsimath” [one who learns late in life] “wallowing in words and the panacea of poetry”. @hazelmason10
Illustration by Dan Williams
For our Storytelling issue, we conducted something of an experiment. We asked our online readers to suggest potential cover images by choosing from the site of our partner, Stocksy. The brief? Find a picture that could inspire a story. We then asked our Twitter followers and the writers of Visual Verse to respond. Featured above is Hazel Mason’s poem.