They lay, two matches in a box
One with the spark to do something still,
The other, spent.
The hand reached in and picked up the charred match
It knew that the end was near.
Surprise lay in store as it was glued into a split
upon a table top
And dried sanded and stained until the surface was
perfect.
Sitting back the artisan withdrew a cigarette from the
packet
Reached calloused fingers into the box
And struck the eager match.
This was the time.
This was the moment.
Life, in a flash began.
In a puff of smoky breath it was over
Flicked from fingers through the open door
To a watery grave.
Later, the table surrounded by laughter and tales,
Hands caressing its surface.
Who’s know what is spent and what is life?
And the moral of this tale –
God knows.
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