The stuff of my knapsack


The stuff of my knapsack

I got a knapsack that holds just the right amount of my stuff
No matter whether I’m going away for a week, three days, a month

backpack bustedIt’s big enough to handle all the stuff I have need of
And small enough that carrying it don’t make me huff and puff
My knapsack is tough, but to stuff it with more stuff
Would be unhealthy, you could almost say greedy
It would mean maybe my knapsack splitting at the seams
Screwing up the structure permanently, and for what? Another pair of socks?
An alarm clock? An extra watch?
A bottle of after shave with the top secured in scotch tape, a can of shaving cream
A book or magazine I probably won’t even have the time or inclination to read

Once I’m on the road and free from the clutter of the stuff that surrounds me
Stifles me, the trifling and trivial material that’s always around hounding me
Dangled in front of me, the stuff that makes for cardinal sins of stuff gluttony
Clogging the closets and drawers of my spaces like clogged arteries!

I need my knapsack and an open road to triple bypass
All that, jus give me what I need, I’m like an infant,
When I can’t take no more milk, well then no more I’ll feed
(Though I may still play around a bit with the nipple)
I prefer my stuff does not flow, only trickles
Otherwise I trip over things, blocked from all sides and angles
All the cheap rubbish and gubbish that covers my floors and tables
Like newspaper circulars, stuff from junk mail deliverers
Forms and receipts, flyers and photocopies from too many dead trees
That died meaninglessly to form mountains of stuff
Congested like furnitures in a West Indian living room
Stuff I will never in my life have the time to sort through
So I stuff it into a shoebox, and put the used boots it held
Into the closet where I store the brooms
And take the brooms and slide them in the spot under the stairs
Next to a piece of electronics that broke 3 weeks after I bought it
On top of the case of empty beers I haven’t returned in years!

And search for that one key scrap of paper hidden somewhere
That I rummage around for, to the point of tears
Feeling increasing panic and fear, cuz it seems like my stuff is
Independently reproducing, as it expands and accumulates
Which in turn causes my knapsack effectiveness to dissipate
Next thing you know, I’m carrying plastic bags with ripping handles
Jus to cart around an extra belt and a pair of sandals
So that when I pass Customs, my Black Panther T-shirt falls from my
Stretched-open knapsack side pocket to cause a scandal
And the other luggage with the little wheels that jam up
The whole thing ram up with a Sunday suit and extra pajamas
I never wear much at home but thought, jus in case, I’d pack up

When jus my knapsack’s capacity for the perfect quantity
The most useful necessities that all my amassed, massive stacks of stuff boils down to be
The bare bones of the anatomy, the precise volume, is jus enough
To handle the right amount
Of my stuff

© nth digri

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