Posted on July 21, 2003 in Book of Days Poems
Note: This is part of a series based on exercises from A Writer’s Book of Days. It’s something of a rebellion against the Friday Five and similar tupperware content memes.
Today’s topic: Write about packing a suitcase.
Underwear folded once, decapitated half moons.
Socks matched, folded once together:
I don’t expect them to mate.
Shirts squared, pants trapezoided.
Medicines for injection into the bloodstream
via the mechanism of stomach acids — stowed.
Extingencies predicted and met:
Stranding in a desert: a canteen.
Hunger, cardboard chewy energy bars.
Lost: maps.
Expected exposure at a pool: trunks and a towel.
Nakedness at a dress affair: my best suit.
Uncertainties addressed
by order and experience.
Against the smashing of a wild ape,
the fall of a meteor,
or the bad directions of a grease monkey
I ride defenseless.
For everything else
There’s the bankrupting flexibility
of credit cards. I travel
therefore, I must be a free man.
Others who participate:
Want to participate? First either get yourself a copy of A Writer’s Book of Days by Judy Reeves or read these guidelines. Then either check in to see what the prompt for the day is or read along in the book.
Tomorrow’ topic/prompt: The first time I saw _____________.