POSSESSORS

This poem went in a really unexpected direction. It's funny how that happens. Maybe there's a reason.

Possessors

How come it’s yours

And it’s hers and it’s his

And it’s ours and it’s theirs

And that’s fine…

But when talking of me

A possessor must be

Not ‘mines’ with an S

But just mine?

And how come it’s its

And not it’s or it’s its’

And it’s very much whose

And not who’s?

Seems never in doubt

The British set out

To make all of their neighbours

Confused…

Confused about who’s

The possessor, and whose

Are the treasures and where they can see ‘em

So how come it’s yours

When it’s ours but it’s there

In a Bloomsbury marbled museum?