On My Keychain

On my keychain there are keys

To what, I have no clue.

“Just throw them out,” my husband says

And that’s what I should do.

 

Yet there’s a little nagging thought

That someday I might find

The locks those keys will fit and if

They’re gone, I’m in a bind.

 

For if I take them off the chain

And stash the keys away,

The odds of finding them again

Get lower every day.

 

At some point in the past, I knew

Just what each one was for,

But like my aging brain cells,

They can’t help me anymore.