PAD Day 21: The Junk Drawer

 First, I want to thank Maureen Thorson for featuring my blog and my poem from yesterday, "Brussels Sprouts Make Their Case," on her NaPoWriMo blog for today. It's always a treat to be featured, and thnaks to all who have enjoyed my silly but fun-to-write verse. It was the result of a great prompt from Maureen.

Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NapoWriMo: (1) Write a "sound" poem, and (2) "write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question."

I must admit I got so caught up in Maureen's prompt that I forgot to incorporate Robert's "sound" prompt, so maybe I will write a separate poem later on that subject. Meanwhile, here is the result of the other prompt.

The Junk Drawer
 
My best friend in high school
told me one day he was leaving home.
He asked me to keep his record collection,
while he hitchhiked to parts unknown.
A few days later his father confronted me
about his whereabouts and I admitted
that I thought he was going to see
his older brother in Kansas.
When he came home again, I confessed
that I told his dad, and for some selfish,
immature reason, I had cut up some
of his album covers after he'd gone
to make a wall collage.
We remained good friends anyway
but over the years drifted apart.
 
One summer between college semesters
I worked for a telemarketing firm
that sold products made by blind workers
and used the profits to send disabled kids
to summer camp, or so I thought.
When I asked the manager which camps
we sent those kids to, she got defensive
and told me to just make something up.
I quit the next day.
 
When I saw the Mona Lisa at the Louvre,
it was after passing through a gallery
of Titians and Caravaggios, huge, windswept,
larger-than-life canvases of human form.
I found the famous lady tucked in an alcove,
small and brown and understated,
almost lost among the melodrama around her.
 
Why do we still keep our disappointments and regrets,
as valuable as expired coupons,
in our mental junk drawer?