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Paul Mitchell
Baggage
You don’t need to see a suitcase on the veranda
to know a suitcase is there. It’s on the veranda
no matter how hard it tries to be in the cupboard.
Empty coat hangers console each other
with the memory of clothes. The suitcase
is closed, but who needs to be told what’s inside?
The suitcase will go where it must,
conveyor belts will turn and bus wheels spin;
the suitcase will allow it.
No one needs to see
a veranda without a suitcase
to know where the suitcase has gone.
Always in the Toilet at Parties
Piss bubbles over laughter and music
you hear yourself sing along
a few words behind
in someone else’s voice.
Yours was cool out there
where the party will continue
even if the bowl’s slight spin
bends to a forgotten galaxy.
Through an eye-level window
a parliament of houses where
decisions are avoided. Those streetlights
would blink, too, if you knelt outside
head raised to the stars . . .
So return to the blob of music,
dips, tough crackers, the quick
flow of conversation.
Copyright © Paul Mitchell