The Broom

The sun is abundant, the shade scarce,
The work incessant, the break, a farce,
With glee at start, despair at end,
The signs are plenty, but tough to parse.

The broom is presented with difficulty old,
Must he be usual or try to be bold,
The ones around were fat and thin,
They came and went, produced and sold.

They say to him, sweeping is great fun,
Once you start sweeping, you’re second to none,
You swing and dance, eat dust and make merry,
This is what you were born to do; this is what is to be done.

The shop is chatty when the shutter is down,
All say the same thing, the ones green and brown,
They have seen their mates do that since four generations,
For all their friends make up every broom that has served this town

But this one has other plans ever since he saw Harry Potter
Flying, is what he sees in his reflection, in mirror or still water,
He loathes sweeping; they say it’s a necessary evil,
His inner turmoil he can’t escape, the grey, the debacle, hotter.

And every day they show him, a reality new,
You can be king’s marble cleaner, with a handle of yew,
But do it and stay hither, don’t run away from reality,
The ones that fail escaping are many; the ones that make it are few.

But he has made up his mind, like a great rebel,
What needs to be done, shall, I will be a ‘broomy’ jewel,
Escape I shall, when they come to buy me,
Subtly from the maid’s grasp, I will leave their dwell.

And the day came when the good ones were all gone,
Few brooms were left, the customers were torn,
Three bulky men accompanied he sweet ‘witch’ when she chose him
No maid to deceive, he sweat, for the game was on.