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Portable Junk Drawer

November 28, 2015

Portable Junk Drawer is a beauty of a poem. Smash. Dash. She’s off into the November night. Quite lovely. And eloquent. Cold November Rain.

Elan Mudrow

Photo by Robert Doisneau Photo by Robert Doisneau

Regina laughs every time she shows me

The contents of her purse

I call the purse a portable junk drawer

But, she isn’t laughing at what I say

She hears me, but doesn’t

Pulling two compact discs

Out of her junk drawer

They look new, as if stolen

I’m not sure

I give her 8 dollars

She must sign her name

And print her address on a receipt

She seems bewildered

As if no address exists

As if all addresses were hers

She uses a shelter’s address….and

Continues to laugh, eyes rolling


As if in a convulsion

There is something rattling

In her junk drawer. I can’t tell what it is

I glimpse a small, balled up piece of foil

She tightens her legs together

Twitches and produces

A surprised look of a kind of recognition

She must find a bathroom and

Digs deep in…

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From → poetry

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