Traces reflected
Traces of chalk left on the blackboard
After you wipe the wet towel across it
Words reduced to a scattering of
Broken white lines, curves, dashes
A new alphabet for a new language
Another wipe obliterates the
Nascence of a whole literature
Deprives countless struggling writers
The source of their anguish.
Without a tongue to twist
Future poets are bereft
You shrug but not indifferent
Finished with your labors
You put down the erasing towel
Then your eye is drawn
To lush illustrations
Pinned to a bulletin board
Where shimmering Sunbeam
Images coalesce
Memory’s carnival
.
Photograph © D Young
Poetry © R Young
studio arago 
I like the photo with the traces reflected on the toaster. Both picture and poem make a wonderful combination. Love especially the second stanza because it talks about many artists-writers, even some friends of mine, who feel as deprived as you have expressed so beautifully here.
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