Pack My Bags

Packing my bags to get out of town,
says the song on the radio. Me? I’m staying
very put. Very much
committed to staying here in place
until perhaps tomorrow.

Too much desperation keeps me here, or is it
a love of momentary stability? Not sure.

All I know is what my heart tells me to do
and it says, stay put for now. Pack your bags
just in case, if you want; pretend you care
about the world outside; just don’t you dare
leave. It’s cold out there, after all.

You don’t have enough
to put in a bag anyway, let alone
more than one. All you’ve got
is a bag of nothing, pared down
from too much.

But pretty soon I’ll have
too much again, Then the message
will come to pare down before
going…where?

At last I feel relief. I’m ending up
a rich, rich man. Packing my bags
to get out of town; it changes the song
to a poem about taking nothing
for the journey now, and the sky
shines and shines — diamonds,
I guess; diamonds in a dirty glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T