Lost and Found

In a dark corner of the cloakroom,
Neglected and broken,
Slumped by a toilet door,
Lies the Lost and Found.
Swollen with clothes.
It’s nameless contents,
Like thick, sprawling guts,
Spill heavily onto the carpet.
Entrails kicked and swung,
Flung back into its belly.
Lonely plimsoles, shorts, shirts,
Wait, scared, anxious.
Praying for a second chance.
To be rescued…or left for dead.
Each day fed with more and more.
A diet of lost possessions,
Banished to the reeking gob,
Which belches out its dinner.
Oh, the Lost and Found.

© James Cappuccini 2014