Lifting the compass from its bed
I prise the still stiff joint apart
Till unused lead and lethal point
Mark forty degrees and so many seconds.
It's forty years since I unwrapped its shininess:
The black box and red felt inside,
The sparkling tools that still tempt me
Into a world of geometry and number.

Today I bin it, this present.
I've never used it, now know I never will.
It has fooled me all these years. My careful uncle
Thought I might turn out a man of measurement,
Reckoning tables, plotting the years.
Adios. Your exactitude has always bugged me.

My charting must be done
On hearts and sleeves, in the crazy grey arenas
Of if and but, in fight or flee, and in tears.
The measures I know flow from an optic,
My reckoning will be sulphurous and proud
And I won't protract time for wont of life.

This is drawn from a true story. Moving house, I found the tech drawing set - again. Having moved around a lot, I have found it many times and always packed it and dragged it from place to place. No more! Personally, it signifies a decision, a time to take a definite course of action and stop trying to be everything I might be. It also offers a great chance to pun!