Grow old the rumpled duffel did
worn worries mar its side
and nevermore the contents hid
but spilled without its hide
A pair of darkened rugged pants
a sock twice holed from thrust
within their crumpled torpor dance
around the virgin dust
A cartoon drawn upon itself
to make a mock and more
to mark the spot upon the shelf
which once the duffel bore
When young the duffel's belly groaned
against its wearers back
with everything the wearer owned
tucked safely in the sack
Forgotten now as I remember
one duffel down when found
aside the rumpled duffel wearer
grown old, sprawled on the ground.
© 1999 Mach B
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