Leaf 147 – Reflections
Some men like to polish their
Ferraris, but not me. This poem is about the desk on which I have done pretty
much all my writing from the age of fifteen to fifty (so far). It’s followed me
faithfully to almost all of the places where I’ve lived since first leaving
home, including the last move of some 9000+ miles – halfway round the world.
Smell of beeswax –
polishing the desk
my parents gave me.
Photographs by Tim Chamberlain.
