The Stakeout

I found it in the back of the junk drawer,

tangled in some string and rubber bands.

A key to a lock that isn’t there no more,

held by these shaking and these heavy hands.

I’m keeping all your secrets in a box,

even though you haven't called in years.

I’m the one who stays and the one who locks

the door against the noise and all the fears.

The brass teeth are useless and they’re blunt,

a jagged piece of metal in my grip.

I’m still waiting out here in the front

long after I have let the anchor slip.