Ceenoa

It wasn’t where I left it,
I’d looked on every shelf,
“I would swear, I left it there”
I muttered to myself.

It wasn’t in the cupboard,
I only found a sock,
it wasn’t in the garden
buried underneath the rocks.

I looked under the table,
but I couldn’t see it there,
I even took the cushions off
each and every chair.

“Where could you be?”, I said to me
– it didn’t answer back,
and just “because”, I had a look
inside the old spice rack.

It was nestled at the bottom
of the musty ginger jar,
I tipped it out, then dropped it,
but it didn’t roll too far.

I picked it up and held it,
and told it what I thought,
that I’d be lost without it
and my day be without worth.

I twisted it and pushed it,
put it back where it belonged,
for a day without some humour
just makes my day too long.

© C Woolley 9/5/2013