Let Me Put It This Way

Imagine taking all the jigsaws you own

  (for the purpose of the poem
  you own several, none of which
  contains a kettle, infuser, samovar
  or anything vaguely teapotic)

and then
pouring them into a suitable container,
tossing all the boxes into the recycling

  (because you’re a dutiful, ethical,
  public-spirited and eco-friendly
  fully paid-up member of society
  and the local neighbourhood watch)

and then
deciding you want to piece together
an image of a short and stout teapot
which, against all odds and reason,
you manage to Heath Robinson.

Weird-ass-looking teapot, mind
But, hey, that’s poetry.