When I was at university I met this really prolific poet called Don Walls. He was a lovely man and he wrote beautiful poetry which seemed very simple, but wasn’t really. He had a whole series of poems about the things he kept in his shed:
‘I keep my manic depression in the garden shed…’
‘I keep my pet hate in the garden shed
and watch it through the window…’
He was ace. He died a few years ago.
I often think of him. I think, particularly, of putting the things I don’t like about myself in the garden shed:
‘I keep my premenstrual tension in the garden shed…’
‘I keep my tendency to procrastinate in the garden shed…’
You get the idea. I also keep the stick I use to beat myself in the garden shed.