I've sat at this old silkyoak desk
for several decades.
It's seen my pencil drawings
of warplanes during the Vietnam War era
become
Captain Goodvibes-inspired doodles
of perfectly barrelling waves.
It's seen my primary school homework,
my university assignments
and even words for which magazines paid me.
For a while
it was my kitchen table
when I lived alone.
And as my typewriter became
another analogue memory
replaced by a shiny laptop,
the yarns continue to seep
deep into its grain.
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