Poste Restant
I wish I were a baggage to abandon.
I wish I were a hold-all to un-hold,
With no handle for some bloke to put his hand on
Or to plant a snotty kiss that leaves me cold …
I wish I were a parcel, square and string-tied,
In stout brown paper, not to be un-wrapped;
Inscribed in huge red letters, “DON’T PEEP INSIDE!
Till I’m dead and gone, and cannot be sent back …”
It might be rather fun to be left luggage;
To fashion most exquisite, boring days
With false teeth and umbrellas in West Dulwich,
Or to gather dust in Walton-on-the-Naze …
I think I’d like to be a Printed Packet,
Forgotten on some sorting-office shelf,
With nobody to notice I can’t hack it
And no-one else to hassle … Just myself …
I want to pass my private rites of passage
Simply wrapped up in myself, and “off the ‘phone.”
I really DO wish you would get the message …
Just like Garbo, dear, “I VANT TO BE ALONE!”
( I found the first line of this poem as a typing exercise
on a second-hand computer.
It just tickled my fancy! )
Copyright © Frances King | Year Posted 2009
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