In the shed of my late father

mortality raises its gentle 

terrifying reminding head

among the stilled working

the colonising cobwebs 

here in this inner sanctum 

of a man’s married years

lie the abandoned hobbies

the casualties of affordability 

and changing health

golf clubs beginning to rust

and accrete DIY liquids 

transforming into new uses

a club is always a club

no matter how it is wielded

no matter where it is

or how tamed one is

a complete bathroom window

frosted

its opening obedient to a key

that hasn’t turned for decades 

a trolley of peeling paint

and complaining metal 

castors still compliant

a primitive vehicle from my childhood 

upcycled then repurposed 

to shelve rough materials 

soon to be upcycled again 

I was sent there by my father 

to find a tool I could never retrieve 

today everything is uncovered

in the light of vacating