Poetry Blogs (Toys)

How is it

that even someone
that clings to broken toys
with a mix of
nostalgia and remorse
that cradles a chinadoll
whose chipped fingers slip through flesh
to the infantile heart at the center of
neurons
Could still
be held in the cradle of arms
owned by someone whose own skin
wields their own patterns of 'horse play'
And brazenly still
Refuses to let go
Of such an uncoordinated ...

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His Mother makes them both a snack

Jamal, he sits out in the back

Upon an empty old rice sack

Flip-flops and bottle tops

In Gaza, fun for girls and boys

Are simple things that make no noise

For Jamal they're his favourite toys

Flip-flops and bottle tops

He plays outside in rubble dust

His Mother smiles and is not fussed

It's safer there but only just

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