lugged, tugged, hauled, wheeled out
of the office of Psychiatrist So-and-So and onto
conveyor belts attached by air
to flight, time, destination
always arrives later than usual
in the decade and doesn’t miss
analyzing past
packing practices. Each
Samsonite looks alike
spinning about the baggage belt,
but what’s inside—
folded, jammed, crammed—
unbinds the bound,
figures best the combination,
mimics the turned key.
Sorting single souvenirs
of the everyday takes
patience and a long layover. Don’t
get distracted by the lounge;
keep an eye on scheduled departures,
what you came in with.
Jet lag is a bitch but so
is a handbag emptied
of plans and promises,
maps to hot spots, a good book
with you as the central character.
Most importantly,
keep a tight grip
on your ticket
to Claim. Whatever they tell you,
you can’t go home
without it.
