Drawers

by Steve Prusky

He places the
day’s possibles
in the top dresser drawer;
pens, keys, change,
money clip, wallet,
barely readable
notes scratched out
on wadded napkins,
in the order they’ll be
robotically retrieved
the next morning
when there is no
time to search.

Slumped on the
edge of the bed,
shoes, pants, shirt
are shed in trade
for sweats, slippers,
a stained t-shirt
he’s worn all week.
Then, the sigh,
the deep breath
swelling from within
his reminiscences of
the day’s events
that later claw raw
his restless sleep.

Last night’s verbal
battle with his wife,
how the mortgage
should be paid,
his son’s plea for
money toward the rent,
the flat tire that made
him late for work,
which conflicts won
out-weigh those lost,
Will he be vested
before lay-offs?
What drawer do
all those go in