Iíll Have a Shed of My Own Some Day
I lay awake last night thinking about my shed.
Several of my friends have sheds of their own
(for several reasons). One day I may need one too.
My shed will probably contain Cuprinol and white spirit.
A modest range of shiny, lightweight tools will hang from
hooks in tidy rows. Iíll have a Flymo Easi-Glide 300.
I will require electric shears, since even I know
hedges, trees and weeds will not stop growing.
Our old shed and the things inside will need to go,
although Iíll miss the smell. Iíll maybe keep a few
tobacco tins with useful clouts and tacks and springs
Ďcos like you say, one canít get single screws or nails
or washers anywhere these days for love or money.
My shed will have a lock to deter the casual burglar.
Iím guessing I might need some help in putting up my shed
and sorting plugs and lights (Iíll have to cross that bridge)
but when I show my friends around my shed, they will be
much impressed by my display of new-found enterprise
and independence. I thought about an old oak writing desk
in lieu of workbench, but I know thatís just plain sillyó
thereíll be no poetry in the new shed. Woodlice, snails
and woodworm wonít be invited in. Likewise, all miceó
I will not countenance timidity. But I may admit a spider
to lace the windows for me come September.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Annie Fisher would
be pleased to hear them.