not quite abandoned

 "Somewhere, deep down, they're a junk drawer."

-- Hank Green

minor skills,

stashed in the clutter

like matchbooks

(why do I still have matchbooks)

take on the

vague odor

of disuse

as they mingle

with paper, slowly breaking down,

and oil (I wonder what this small

bag of parts belongs to),

not quite abandoned,

waiting

for that moment

you need

a match.

tickled

 these shades of green

confuse me

as they attack.

a narrow band,

sure,

but these crests

and troughs

bring

a forgotten intensity

of electromagnetic

radiation

that enters

through my cornea

and startles

me down to 

my toes --

bare,

in the sunshine,

tickled

by these colors

that must,

I guess,

be mowed.