You choose buttons because they are
Vintage, retro, quirky and fun;
But once upon a time
Buttons were a serious affair.
Finally a garment would give up the ghost,
Patched, mended and darned beyond repair
Till only the buttons survived.
They would be removed and dropped
Into the odourless, ancient treasure trove
Of sounds, colours and tales.
It looks exotic now, playful.
Did it ever cross your mind
That we saved buttons
Because we were too poor not to?
Ashamed, we re-used what we could.
Nothing was thrown away that wasn’t exhausted,
Utterly useless.
My father’s collar stud,
Tipped with a dot of yellow veined ivory,
Lay beneath the eyed and doubled eyed discs
Through which we saw the past.
Hopefully, it had been added to the box,
Not knowing his starched white collars
Were no longer required.