Packing for Successes
I pack the backpack
then empty it
count again what's needed,
discarding the unlikely.
the unnecessary.
Remember to add a pocket edition
of 'North American Birds'
adjust the straps,
shove and pummel the overstuffed kit,
try to balance the weight,
smooth the angular,
tighten the loose.
Once again
I open the backpack
to add a small survival kit.
I forgot to pack a rope
or toilet paper!
I remember just in time
that I have left the instruction manuals
for the battery-operated can opener,
the outdoor fire lighter,
the camping stove,
and a high-tech sharpening tool
on a small folding chair.
I gather the manuals up,
pack them,
try to pack the small folding chair,
decide I will have to carry it separately.
The camping chair is in my left hand,
in my right hand a sturdy hiking stick.
A tin pot, cleats and folding iron skillet,
dangle from a rolled-up pup tent
above the backpack,
they jangle loudly when I dare move.
I lumber to the front door to leave.
I can’t pass through the door,
too much gear
I will have to squeeze out sideways,
but now I can’t turn the door handle or lock,
my spacesuit-like, all-weather jacket
won’t bend at the elbows.
A light rain is falling.
My hand-held GPS is low and needs charging.
I forgot to pack a camera.
Something is beeping under my coat - can't reach it,
my fashionable 'Everest' climbing hat
has toppled off my head -
can't reach down to get at that either.
Being no longer limber enough to shrug,
I proceed to unpack previous expectations
and all outdoor plans for today.
Theoretically, I will have to unpack myself
just to enter the house once more.
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