Clutter - I collect it.

 

Glasses perched upon my nose

socks slipped over all my toes

chicken soup here in my spoon

months have passed since we’ve had June

rain that falls on flower beds

tunes that stick inside my head

all these things that I have said

have nothing much in common.

There’s clutter in my attic space

the basement’s full of boxes

There’s something almost every place

the quarry’s where the rocks is,

I don’t think I’m all that cheap

I’m known for over tipping,

but my grasp of writing clever poems

is obviously slipping.