Poetry · Writing


Collected in a heap

of russet and beige.

Newly hunted and peeled, ready to

Knock opponents into splinters and dust.

Each carefully chosen and polished to a shine.

Round and ripe for a cracking contest, or

Stolen by your Mum to scare away the spiders.

(Pretty sure that doesn’t work, by the way. I have no idea why spiders would be afraid of conkers…)

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