I am afraid of being boxed up

I am afraid of being boxed up

Downsized

Put into storage

Were I can be visited

Now and then

As the mildew grows

Over my bits and pieces

The best of me

Left with the rest of me

In a cold dark room

Shuttered and locked

Imprisoned in a windowless cell

With no natural light

To see by

A book with a dusty cover

Lying unread

A bedside cabinet

Without a bed

A tallboy

Chopped down to size

Short of a drawer or two

A box of long players

With no deck

Upon which to make music

An old sofa

With nobody to sit on it

Understuffed.

Shirts on a rack

Unworn

Yellowing

As time passes.

Shoes

Laces undone

In need of a spit and polish

Piled in a corner

With nowhere to go

Playing footsie

With each other

Souls of discretion

Even though

They have stories to tell

About how many times

I put the wrong foot forward

Even when I was trying

To keep in step.