Indiana Worms

Deep in sepulchral tombs
they lie, hidden from prying eyes
the type of treasure
that belongs in a museum,
should a budding archaeologist
be able to worm their way down there,
past rusting machine machines
that spill half desiccated socks
and toasters that with a ping
fling long forgotten crumbs
as weighty microwaves once wedged
threaten to thump down from above
squashing would be intruders
quashing hopes of discovery,
lying behind these traps
are riches beyond compare:
pristine and complete cookbooks
on how to craft homemade poems
to delight the senses
artefacts of long gone ages
with yellowed pages
that can melt the face off the unworthy.