Jar

a jar 

is a piggybank 

yet to be filled 

with cash,

a precious 

family heirloom

yet to be smashed  

a urinal for 

an Uber driver

desperate 

to take a leak

a beautiful specimen 

to make your 

collection complete, 

it’s a London souvenir 

extortionately priced

a prison weapon

smashed into a knife

a marmalade pot,

it’s smell quietly lingers,

a housing for a candle

I snuff out with my fingers

burning them 

in the process