looking for my identity, i discovered many.
all still packed, not neatly, crammed into
a raggedy sixty year old suitcase, worn.

each year i take off one and begin anew
with another, fresher but more leathery
than last year's; it's packing is so tight.

i can see scattered remnants of old identities:
turtle-neck sweaters with broken-hearted discs
full-flared duck-tails, grease-gobs-filled hair;

flat-top haircut in full dress with a matching
square head and hidden Lucky Strike cigarettes
in the glove compartment replete with rubbers,

for show not go; i see an identity of the seventies,
wow, can't wear that one ever again, impersonation
would be the game and first place ribbon goes to me;

i shake the contents of my suitcase like a shoebox
trying to align all the edges, at least a commonality.
watch each identity feather-drop on top of the last.

as it should be.

09/06/2008

Posted on 09/06/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan