Odds and Sods, Bits and Bobs
The smell, the scent of a solid wood drawer, the pungent aroma of steel and other metals that fill the openness or divided by compartment, When I was a boy I would ask me Grandad, have you got… before I could finish the sentence, go look in the odds and sods drawer or the tin slightly rusted tool box which sat not too far from the heavenly drawer of everything. Which would be contained in the universe of shed, the universe of shed emitted a faint smell of old cut grass, rusty tools and oils for everything, even my Grandad’s creaky knees.
Odds and sods the drawer with contents,
That will fix the lot.
Bits and bobs, the drawer to mend even hearts,
When broke there’s tape for that.
Rust on the fingers as we rummage, the fun starts,
Granite hands we need for the sharps.
Pull free one hand from treasure trove of parts.
What’s deep in the nail bed, the tip of a drawing pins pointy point,
We pull it out and dive back in.
To only find something wet and sticky the leaky glue bottle,
Alas I found it after what seemed like days of searching,
It was only a button I needed for me bestest shirt,
The odds and sods are always my first port of call.
By Ellis Unchained
Work of Unchained Wisdom ©2020
Mindful Gifts CIC Darlaston