An Ordinary Object

On my kitchen counter sits
A catch-all made of tin,
A place for scissors, pencils and
Whatever else fits in.

It’s yellow, green and orange
And supports a jaunty daisy;
A caterpillar on a leaf
Looks fat, content and lazy.

An ordinary object, yes?
To decorate and serve;
I’ve had it, though, for fifty years,
A long time to conserve.

My room was being painted in
The color of my choice;
And finally, for furnishings,
My mom gave me a voice.

I chose the bedspreads and the lamp
And knickknacks picturesque;
That flower with its pencil cup
Sat proudly on my desk.

I still remember how it felt
To mark my own domain.
Such pride in all those purchases;
To me, so far from plain.

That flower cup has followed me
Wherever I’ve called home
And now I’m giving it its due,
Within this simple poem.