In a dusty room inside my head

You’ll find the common relics of my former lives.

In attic clutter, sets are stacked as in some lonely seaside shop –

Forlorn and fading slowly.

Saponaceous wraps are first to catch my nostalgic eye.

It’s Lux: The Soap of the Stars, and my mother’s pride, all perfumed pink and creamy.

Palmolive, green and slimy is sweating in more ordinary overalls.

Imperial Leather, yellowing, regal and surely misspelled is sitting alone in dacha exile.

Wright’s Cold Tar, also perhaps misnomer-ed, had ads by Billy and his lovely wife and girls.

Over there, Lifebuoy, the radioactive red tablet glows but grandma said we had no need of it.

If you must, try Shield, she said, it’s for young people who like showers.

Zest, low profile is on test? – You wake up bodies

as well as clean, I think.

In the closet, pure, dense and white and resting on a marble pedestal, Dove is cooing, and

Respectfully reminding us that she is not like the others.

She is indeed a Crème Bar – the richly moisturising antidote to barren skin that transcends mere soap I heard some voice declaim.

But was it just soft soap?