A Home for Christmas
Kathryn Ratzko
Socks and a hat,
a scarf, thick and bulky.
Throat sweets tucked
down the side.
Wipes to wipe away dirt;
nothing to take away pain.
Room for a razor, or maybe not.
A torch for wakeful nights.
The tiny space left;
soap or shampoo,
toothbrush, toothpaste
or chocolate
or pastilles?
My decision is made,
the lid is placed on,
my conscience contained.
Your home in a box.
