We’ve been clearing out our attic
And we’ve found a lot of “tut”
Things we never knew existed
Let alone know where they’re put

So we might as well just chuck ‘em
To free up a bit of space
‘Cause we’ve tons and tons of rubbish
To put up there in their place

There’s an ancient looking bicycle
With its tyres pumped up an’ all
Heaven knows how it got up there
‘Cause the hatch is very small

There’s a pile of dusty records
Anagram-aphone as well
I think we got lumbered with them
‘Cause they’re difficult to sell

I remember my great uncle
Struggling to make it go
It required a lot of patience
A quality he didn’t know

There was a certain knack, he said
A special kind of twist
A moment’s hesitation
And it would twang and break your wrist

And sitting on this gramophone
Looking moth-eaten and wormy
An ugly looking rabbit
A nightmare in taxidermy

I suspect it once looked better
Well, perhaps before it died
I recall we called it “Google”
‘Cause its eyes were both one side

So there’s all this to dispose of
And the question is “but how?”
I see the weather’s turning ugly
So let’s put it back for now


Keith Miller