Lost Luggage

Yes, my suitcase arrived in  Florence 3 days after I did.

            Lost Luggage

What was so carefully packed
has been carelessly misplaced:
your life, already reduced
to essentials, has been left
behind or flown to some
other destination,
so you end up where you want
to be but without everything
you need – waiting,
waiting, waiting
in a foreign airport
for the ever moving baggage
belt to bring you some bit of home. 

Missed Connections

A storm in D.C. caused us to miss a flight in Paris, but we got where we were going anyway.

   Missed Connections

To be late is to be lost:
the plane departed,
the job filled,
the face turned
toward someone else –
until you find
you’re right on time
for whatever happens
next. 

At the Uni-Mart in Philipsburg PA

Here's another short vignette from a trip through Pennsylvania.

  At the Uni-Mart in Philipsburg, PA

a blonde clerk named Destiny
sells cigarettes and dispenses
smiles to teenage boys
with fake i.d.’s
all dying for a date.

Hillside Cemetery

 Here's one brief image from a drive through Pennsylvania and New York.  (A couple more may follow next week.)

                 Hillside Cemetery

The worn headstones struggle to stand upright
on the steep slope while the bodies beneath them
slowly luge their way feet first toward eternity.

Dog Tired

    Dog Tired

At times the panting devotion,
the adoring gaze,
the disproportionate hurt
or happiness
become too much
to bear,
and I long for less
dependence.
But then again,
the cat seldom comes
when I call.

 

Compensation

Trying to find some consolation in old age.

     Compensation

As the hair thins,

the waist thickens.

As the brain slows,
 
the bladder quickens.

As the day shrinks,

the night lengthens.

And as the body wanes,
 
the spirit strengthens.

Birds on a Wire

                   Birds on a Wire 

                  (On hearing that most birdsongs are either
                   claiming territory
                   or calling for a mate.)           
 

            They perch on words spanning the space

            between the poles of our conversations

            and echo our familiar strains,

            our same old songs of long distance

            love and local loss, with their own

            two-toned tunes warbling of nothing

            but war then lamenting their loneliness.