Old Songs

Old songs carry suitcases.

And decades.

Visit from a time

Where life

Didn’t matter much.

A time with no foresight

Or appreciation for the little things.

I was there

On the underside

Of an overcast

Gray sky

Walking Nowhere

Hands in pockets

My eyes

In the dirt.

A younger guy

And it hurt.

Because I never saw this far

Ahead.

Never saw myself

So behind.

Was I closing my eyes

Or just stupid?

I was there

In my ex-girlfriend’s room

The sound of clothes

Going into a duffle bag

Playing through the speakers.

I was headed Nowhere

And those bags found me here.

Too bad songs can’t

Change the past.

Change direction.

If they could I would

Point my feet toward

Resurrection.

I wouldn’t be typing this today.

At least not in this way.

I wouldn’t have forgotten

what it’s like to get up

And walk

Wherever I want.

Be able to eat

With nobody

Watching me.

Did I notice it then:

The freedom I had

To be

Or do anything?

I just hope

The next suitcase

Will find me Somewhere.

We’ll see—in ten years.