I’m no star
I sit anonymous in a small corner bar
Drinking coffee, comforted by a remembered order
and semi-functional Spanish
And there’s my workbox on TV
Next to the stage and a very big crowd of people
Who don’t know me

My workbox gets around
I’m glad I still get some drawer space
The blessing of having a generous workbox
I’m being dishonest, I now have two actually
And they are not jealous of each other, not that you’d know

A place to put tools and supplies
Or shift your clothes when
The airlines weigh your bag
They’ve been touched by hundreds of people I’ve never met
Pushed around and sat on

And there it was on TV
Standing there quietly
Professional through and though
More so than me.