Moving

61 boxes

labelled and squared off

each in its space.

Each an ambassador of order

in a country of cold concrete.

My life stacked and bordered

to conform to the rectangular tyranny

of moving boxes,

warehoused and waiting.

It is time to discard everything

that has no use

sentimental weight,

battered momentoes that fade and rot,

that only give earlier days disloyal shape.

To chose and change,

throw away and cherish,

my future memories more important now

than past possesions.