I dunno, twenty years ago maybe there’d be the
passion of labelling, you know, that manic press
to pack bags and get on the go - but not today; I
know of a want to see them all again, especially
the littlies; they grow quickly into personalities of
impeding stature - and they’re entitled to space -
but its th’ way I’m trash-bundled irreverently into
the travel-means modal-frame of getting there
I’ll dare dwell on it more - I’ve found th’ item you
pack things into - with stuff from four years back
inside, no wonder they weren’t located - and I’ve
spread the bed with fresh washed clothes which
will compete for th’ limited space available; I get
by with a 10th of that assortment quite gladly
But its a niche ruled by grandkids, whose ideas
of what is right and proper are beyond me so I’ll
properly play the role of doting Grandad - they’ll
let me know when they’re bored with that game;
and in th’ interim we remain daunted a bit by an
ingenuous yawn, I’ve yet to take my poppa nap
© 21 April 2017, I. D. Carswell
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