In the table, there is a junk drawer,
An island of misfit minutiae.
Are the batteries new or depleted?
Scissors and tape tossed here after a gift wrapping session.
A cork trivet bearing a beer logo from a bar on a faraway night.
Old ink pens, loose buttons, and half a blue taper candle, used to color a Chianti bottle.

Now there is the junk folder, a hoarder of information,
Collecting messages wanted and unsolicited.
So many best of the summer sales for seersucker and linen.
I can erase my crepey skin and lose those last tough ten pounds.
I can upgrade my gutters or sign up to find the love of my life–if any of that is needed.
But wait! Here is the message I have been searching for, the one I complained that I never received.

Now I must declutter the junk of my life, real and virtual.
No, I will not confirm my password and account number
To save the children, or the whales, or the Nigerian prince.
I did not really win that lottery, the IRS is not seeking payment, and my car warranty is just fine, thank you very much.
I will not keep the cork from the bottle I shared with someone who turned out to be no one.
I do not need the instructions to an appliance I no longer own or the ticket stub from a movie I don’t remember.

But I will keep that cork trivet, whose memory still makes me smile.
And maybe the two large rubber bands and pile of paper clips to McGyver my rescue somehow, just in case.