"enough to pretend"

I haven't enough
to pretend
with now. I used

to have rooms of boxes
and shelves

of painted wood
shapes,

notched logs, bright
plastic blocks with pegs,

long rods
and circular, many-holed
gears,

articulated die-cast metal
and molded plastic
fears
in jointed shapes
all jumbled and left
disordered from least
to best, removed
from their roles,
still colored and posed
as soldiers, reporters,
doctors and apes,
wizards and scientists,
demigods, blessed saints
and beasts, women
and men. And now

they've all flown
or been sold,
or broken and scuffed,
scratched from life, with
a limb or two off,
thrown out.

There's a page,
an endless idea
and an empty pen, set aside
inside an entire room
for doubt.