The Grimy Cupboard Of An Art Class Poem by Graham Stone

I’ve walked past, so so many times
With nothing but quick glances
Nothing but idle muse.
I refuse to acknowledge the sight.

Behind the panes of grimy glass.
Behind the bolt and key,
That cupboard in the art room,
Where hollow eyes stare out at me.

Within that wooden hollow,
Deep in its dusty depths,
From a shelf, its absent eyes do follow;
and a skinless grin gramaces
is where a forgotten skeleton
ihas been left to wallow.

Its rack of ribs disregarded,
Lurk in the murky corner,
Its bolted spine laid splayed
Across the dirty floor.

Arms stacked with legs together,
Fingers absent, toes alike.
And a dislocated jaw
Wired back upon a pearly skull.

They do not bring it out anymore,
It gives the students a fright.
So it gathers dust instead
Whilst we observe the plastic cast
Pristine, perfect, right.

That poor poor man,
Forlorn in a forgotten cupboard,
I hear him scream at me,
For his bones, his right,
For his disbanded dignity
But I cannot bear the sight.