ME, MY STUFF, AND I

I've got this awful bunch of STUFF,
I don't know where it came from,
I only know I've got too much,
And I know I am ashamed some.

Armed with a paper shredder,
And a trash can on the side,
I'd planned to clean out all my STUFF,
Taking one drawer at a time.

I started with a desk drawer,
I was amazed at what I found,
Scattered paper clips, and staples,
And rubber bands wound all around.

White reinforcements everywhere,
(Do they still use those anymore?)
And self-stick address labels,
Gosh, I had those by the score.

Outdated, unused coupons,
For Free or Half-off Dinners,
Contest entries, not submitted,
Yet declaring I'm a winner.

Expired tickets, old programs,
Pennies, nickels, dimes,
Keys, identified and not,
A watch that won't keep time.

Poems of Helen Steiner Rice,
Erma Bombeck clippings, too,
Ann Lander's columns of advice,
And dried-up tubes of glue.

A package of Alyssum seeds,
A book containing diets,
An aerobic exercise routine,
One day I'd planned to try it.

Some tired looking yellow pills,
I wondered what they're for,
Why aren't they in a vial?
How come they're loose within my drawer?

A hand-held calculator,
Meant to work on solar power,
But within that darkened space,
It would not run an hour.

Address books and calendars,
A few old photos without dates,
Which Christmas was that taken?
Was that my birthday cake?

Such as it is, I love my STUFF,
Which took me years to find,
When did you last see a roller skate key?
Aha! One-of-a-kind!

Now, mind you, this is just one drawer,
I have others that can match it.
And some are wider, deeper, too,
They surely will surpass it.

I guess I have a bunch of STUFF,
For which there is no need,
Once, everything was valuable,
And meant a lot to me.

But now, it's like an albatross,
That hangs around my neck,
And what to do with all my STUFF,
I sure don't know, by heck.

We spend the first half of our lives,
Accumulating things,
And the last half, getting rid of them,
Oh, the troubles that STUFF brings.

But cheer up, I have a plan in mind,
That serves me double-fold,
My relatives aren't in touch as much,
Since I've become so old.

They rarely come; they seldom call,
We communicate on holidays,
I shed tears on the cards they send,
Then stash them all away.

And that's okay with me, I think,
For I have my strategies,
I plan to leave them all my STUFF,
Intact, in drawers, you see!

Let them sort through my awful mess,
Now off limits and forbidden,
Perhaps they'll find what I can't find,
Lord knows what I have hidden.

So, my relatives can have my STUFF,
I don't mind a bit,
In fact, I'm laughing right out loud!
LET THEM NEATEN IT!