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Mary Gay Kearns Aug 2018
The broken biscuits lay in a tin
An ordinary oblong tin
With turquoise pattern
And pink embossed flowers
Gold edged to finish the job.

How many times I visited
That tin on the middle shelf
In the top half of a cupboard,
Sawn door, to allow for fridge,
And quietly took out the tin.

Broken biscuits were my delight
All shapes and sizes tasty bites
Wafers,  bourbon, custard creams
Rich tea, digestive all suited me
Sometimes fig sandwich, pleased.

Love Mary
Thank you Mum and dad .Love your daughter .
Stephanie Irvin  Sep 2013
rust
Stephanie Irvin Sep 2013
I walked along the wire of Madison Ave
Wanting to be just like the movie
When I saw a girl reading poetry to a tin can
Strangers fed her one dollar bills
The ones with white sneakers just stared

I walked over puddles
Filled up with oily tears
Thinking of how I scream
So loud
And no one is ever around to hear it

This girl kept the rhythm
Skirting the cat calls and grime
I wanted to wrap around her
And grab hold of her mind
But I walked on
Too scared to hear the end

The rain doesn't stop
When we go inside
The rust just builds
On tin cans
And all of us search
For another tomorrow
unedited and unfinished
Anna Blake  Oct 2017
love drunk
Anna Blake Oct 2017
i left your wine glass
on my bedside table

for seven days
it settled in the very place
that your hands had aimlessly
chosen

staining a ring around a mostly empty bodice.

mostly empty?
barely full?

you see, for me,
the wine glass was
my way of having you
stay as long as I wanted.

I saw your delicate
fingerprints stamped upon
the stem and body

just as they were on mine, under a tin roof
amidst a blanket of summer rain.

                                 ......

i washed the glass tonight

as you boarded the plane to the rest of your life.

i wonder if you'll think of me as you sip on your complimentary glass.

rouge ou blanc, mon amour?
rouge comme mon amour?
ou blanc comme mon remise?

-Anna Blake
Christian Bixler Aug 2019
the grey
of this tin figure
wet tile
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