Junk Drawer
I wish I lived in a junk drawer amongst useful things. Bread ties of loaves gone by. Spare laces for a shoe. Mismatched batteries. Spent cigarette lighters. A zipppo, or two. It is a chaotic emporium without the order of those other boring drawers. There's nothing interesting about a fork or a spoon. Old remote controls for forgotten appliances. Broken watches. Coupons expired. Two dollar lottery ticket winners never cashed. Super glue. Ticket stubs to movies past from dates with people lost. Nails and tacks. A needle and thread for things to be mended. Sparklers, lip gloss. Carriage bolts for a bed. Insulated from the world in this private penthouse. In a drawer. In a room. In a house. Never to be disturbed except for something important that only I can fix or do. Not bothered by a winter mouse who avoids this drawer for fear amongst its many things, there's poison, glue. What a hero complex I would have if stowed there. What great importan
