Packing

I can’t know who I’ll
be tomorrow cramped and shoved
in a carry-on

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Brooks Brothers

I’ve fallen victim
to corporate dress-speak. Just
button down shut up.

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Downton Abbey

Those clothes. That house. I’d
plead agoraphobia,
never leave the grounds.

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On a cold winter’s night

Kitchen windows fogged,
oven-baked chicken is the
scent of homecoming.

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New Year’s Eve: ball drop

If we look ahead
in hope, optimism,
then shouldn’t the ball rise?