Dead Weight

I’m digging for scissors to open the mail

in a drawer where the logic is starting to fail.

Under the menus and a tangled cord,

lies a silver key I can no longer afford.

It’s got a blue plastic hat to tell it apart,

from a time when I thought I was being quite smart.

But the locks have been changed and the building is gone,

leaving me holding this useless pawn.

The teeth are still sharp, catching a rubber band,

a cold bit of metal that fits in my hand.

I should throw it away, let the history clear,

but I’ll probably keep it for another ten years.