The junk drawer

It is the high rise

Of the nightstand.

That is protected from the ghosts and spirits  by the

Presence of the staunch nightlight.

It’s inhabitants are a complex group



Fighting for space every minute,

Every time a new tenant moves in.

There is a circus of combs and

A briar patch of safety pins that

Are too agressive for their own good.

Hanging above all this,

Is a chewed piece of gum,

Watching the disorder.

This is a sanctuary for scissors.

(Of both the right & left varities)

The  in the junk drawer is

Made of playing cards,

That easily replicates linoleum.


Because of this,

(And the inertia created by the constant

Motion of

The drawer being carefully opened.

And then slammed shut)

Individual cotton-balls

And loose pen-caps,

Have a hard time sitting still.

Ticking watches

That long ago,

Ceased all ticking,

Lay like landmines,

In an array of random anonymity.

Across this wasteland of miscellaneous forbidden fruits.

One thought on “The junk drawer

  1. Love this poem…I have several junk drawers. You are very talented, Matthew! Keep writing. I will be studying your structure…I write poems for my genealogy scrapbooks, and I can learn much from you. Thank you!
    –PT lady on The Retired Board


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