Thoughts on a Suitcase

Everything I’ve not forgotten and a few things I’m sure I should…
If it’s clothes that make the man then I am in this box.
I am on top of me,
jumping on my underwear just to make it fit.
I’m sitting on my suitcase.
There’s not enough room inside,
not enough time tonight,
not enough time in time and I’m sick of it,
sick of zippers that don’t zip, stickers that don’t stick,
and tickets -
when I cash them in and try to fly I come to find
that I can only go with so much
even though I came with so little.
I’m sitting on my suitcase
and would ride it home if I could,
sail a sea of material things,
leave my luggage on the shore.
When the door swings open
on the morning light outside
I’ll take my suitcase, the only thing I own,
to see another city,
sing another song,
see another show,
because I know
that though there’s not nearly enough time in time tonight,
none of the books are long enough,
dirty looks aren’t strong enough
and true love’s not bond enough
to keep me from where I go.