I won’t be snorting anything through this! A little poem about something I found in my wallet.

Through The Grime Smiles Mahatma Gandhi: A Poem by Peter Boydell

Resembling the deathbed of an ancient rat,
or a door mat
where a fossil once shat.

This filthy, spent sponge.

It’s been stuffed inside a Goan fisherman’s dhoti.
It’s filled the bill for a homeless leper’s roti.

It’s been stood on, bled on, sneezed on, wiped;
supplied food, murder, schooling, wives.

This particular rhyme, I quote,
describes this Indian, ten Rupee note.

Thanks for reading.
Pete

Other poems by Peter Boydell

Watching A Fly On A Slate Table

The Bread And Roses Poetry Competition

Under A Tree in Rishikesh

Poem Boner