My Night Stand Drawer

Slightly ajar, and the diary
of my nighttime needs, or just
things I hold close, a stew of feelings
and wants. Small LCD flashlight
for novels when nightmares rise but
my beloved’s inhales and exhales
are regular as summer tides.

White exercise rubber band to
counter five hours daily of keyboard.
Red albuterol inhaler, though
asthma has mostly left the room.
Box of shells for Dad’s Remington .45,
that tasted both Iwo and Guadal.

A coarse nail file, so fingertips are
solid on a rosewood fretboard, steel
clippers too. Eight ounces of A&D,
appeasement for skin raw from a
new tat. Four X six inch notebook and
ballpoint — inspiration at 3:12 AM
stanza and verse.

Half a roll of orange-flavored Tums,
reflux, ugh. The light smell of must,
is it from the minute dust bunny
sleeping in a corner?

Do possessions mark us or are they
void of content? Perhaps a small
autobiography, a material
confession, or just lines on a life
unscrolled?

Verse-Virtual April 2022