Moving.
At first it is just a few bags.
Personal items.
You’re out the door quick
30 minutes at most.
Not forgetting the few
cans of beans
in the cupboard to bring along.
Next time, you got a wardrobe full
of clothes and some sporting stuff
plus a few appliances.
Thank god you now got
a car
to stuff it all into
and make the move happen.
Soon, you have major appliances,
furniture and a shit load of books
plus all kinds of knick-knacks
and keep sakes, art for your walls.
Thank god, there’s a garage where
you’re moving
and you got a place
for all this stuff.
You hire a truck,
your car will no longer do.
A couple guys or friends if
you have the extra cash.
You put most of the stuff
into your new garage and
swear on your mother’s grave
you’ll never move again.
But soon enough,
better abodes beckon and
this time, you have a full
storage locker that
you also need
to move across the continent,
and of course there are
the kids and the dogs and
all their associated wares.
You throw your arms
up into the empty air
remembering your
promise to your mother
and decided once again
if you can just get through
this move, you’ll sell everything
and live like a monk and
that way, you’ll make it up
to your poor mom.
And that day does come.
You sell everything.
You move south to the sun.
Just you and a few light bags.
A year later you look around
from your electric hammock
and you got so much stuff again
you can’t make it from the
living room to the kitchen
without knocking over stuff.
One of life’s mysteries
you tell yourself and then
you phone your friend who’s
getting rid of a newish
divan that you
just must have
because
you are never moving again
and your hammock
doesn’t have a foot rest.
Our lives teach us who we aren’t.