I assume all men have a junk drawer
No matter how beautiful they seem
No matter how pristine their skin or scalp
No matter their voice thick sweet honey
Or biting as virgin olive oil
In the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, or car
A box in the garage
A jar in the tree
A collection of treasures and atrocities
Mostly garbage trivial trash
Old tickets, receipts, coins and bottle caps
Momentos of shit
Precious nothing
Without sifting without debate
With cheers and laughter of disbelief
Relinquished mine
Shwooosh
From the bureau into the trash bin
In this moment mentally
Created a habit of maintenance
Synced with oil changes and tire rotations
While walking with peace
Out of the bush
A shadow
My guilt, good deeds, failures trail me
I hear him meowing
A gray dusty kitten
Deprived of milk and abandoned
