A poem by Roy Moller

 
Ballad of the Cast-Off Cards

Binned now,
we lie beyond your slumber,
beyond the fishbowl prospect
afforded by your spy hole.

We fell before the shrill hinge
and heavy spring were wedged free
open on to solemn stairs

scaled by the stuffed sacks
on scrawny backs,
and white hands
pushed into your privacy
beneath the tartan nameplate.

We are the ghosts of Christmas Present,
murdered and hidden
from lone, one-bar grannies

stab-stitching sad stars,
unaware that Adelaide
has sent them season’s greetings.

We are the ghosts who
negotiated oceans,
only to be jettisoned
by callow expedience
of casual employees.

As hops hang over Edinburgh,
sack loads must be lightened
of inconvenient
final reminders.
 
 
Roy Moller is a singer-songwriter, born and raised in Edinburgh and living in Dunbar, East Lothian. Poems have recently appeared in Zest, Dactyl, Alliterati, Far Off Places and in two anthologies from Appletree Writers. @RoysterMoller