The Postcard and Poetry Club

A poem about Small Things




Miniature landscapes of city microcosms.

A thousand tiny windows peering into the secret lives of a thousand tiny people.

They all jam into the same grungy metro-line every morning at 8 am rush hour to cram into their microscopic offices.

They fit their belongings into laughable cubicles and have bite-sized relationships with the one next door.

Thousands of small cars zoom underneath my eyes, as I loom over skyscrapers with a magnifying glass.

Puny little trucks honk at the occasional biker trying his best to dodge oblivious automatics.


They move like a carefully coordinated clock designed by Adam after he fell out of Eden and grew a sense of irony.

An orchestrated machine designed to trick us into thinking that we’re running out of time.

Churning out a million toy obstacles we distract ourselves with, while we tap our little fingers and bite our stubby nails waiting for the next big thing.

It’s like that teensy itch behind your neck that seems to get worse the more you scratch it.

A million trivial problems professionally tailored to suit a million tiny people.

All of which I can quietly observe, from the safety of my looking glass.


Protected by the glaze over these small cardboard windows hanging from my wall.