At the last minute
something addles the brain.
Plans are made, bags are packed,
the car is in the driveway,
when the descent into
utter madness
begins.
Due at the airport in an hour,
I frantically try to tame
Neanderthal hair and
cover three new zits
on a nose the size
of China’s Great Wall.
I rant and rave, cursing gods
who hide essential clothing,
then pray (unanswered) for a new body—
or at least one that will allow me
to button my favorite jeans.
When I have finally
found
my
wits,
I go looking for
the One Who Must Stay Behind.
I find him dealing with the moment
in his own way:
panting,
grinning,
digging up
a mess of
dead
skunk.
