I look down at what I dumped
from my desk drawer to a box.
Deciding what to keep now
And what to throw away
There are tie tacks and
Tie clasps I haven't spoken
to in years.
The clasp-an M-60 machine gun
given to me twenty years ago,
I always promised
to wear it to the table
When bargaining one day.
The pin-a ten year service
award from my first employer,
Given just a month
Before I left them, I never asked
If they missed my smiling face.
Should I keep them now?
Or toss them before the last
Man on this planet
Who knows their simple stories
Disappears for good.
The box where they'd be kept
Will likely never leave
The storage locker rented
For what isn't tossed
What we keep for better reasons
will stay stored either way,
couches, books, dishes, coats
I'll soon feel more at home
At the thrift store with my chairs
And tables than here among the boxes.
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