by Ben Nardolilli

Travel brings out strange combinations
for the sake of space, all improvised,
my oxblood loafers sit on top of t-shirts,
rolled up socks sit inside my boxer briefs,
and toiletries are nestled in breast pockets.

I have worn each of these items down
until they became personal talismans for me,
mass manufactured in their common origins,
some are mirrors of love and friendship,
reflecting the feelings of those behind the gifts

Packing my bag it is hard not to reminisce,
I think of trips to the shoe store and then
the ordeal to get my razor, which links me
to my first razor, even though it is gone
and nowhere to be found inside the luggage.

There is time before I begin the jaunt
of switching trains, enough to open up the bag,
I take a census, surprised how hard it is
to remember if I have forgotten anything,
here is my past, I take it where I need to go.