Conkers

We used to make toys from Nature’s bargain bins,
The smooth shiny autumn fruit that lay around in recs, on incidental pathways;

We’d carry them home like treasure trove,
Put them on window sills to admire, though
Some would bake them or soak them in
Vinegar to fight the next day’s battles
In the Darwinian democracy of the playground.

All around me chaos and change I see, appearances
And disappearances, deaths, departures,
Emergencies, while I would have Time
As smooth, round and firm, as easy
To hold, as conkers, as pebbles smoothed by the sea,
As anything that I can hold that will not fall apart on me.