Another of my ‘thing’ poem experiment, also inspired by another play. (I’m doing drama writing and poetry this semester.)
Tucked in a corner,
legs folded beneath,
like a surf board left drying
after riding the waves.
Instead, upright, it’s a bed
awaiting the weight of a heated press
gliding along fabric waves.
Once the star of a John Osborne’s play
where it rode the waves of fame.
It now looks back in anger,
and ponders its domestic end.