last minute packing

It's too late in the night and I haven't yet packed
I want to take some jeans up
on my brand new singer
I want to wash my hair
and shave my legs
and pluck my eyebrows
Oh I wish I didn't care

about these things
How I wish that I could grab
a small bag
ten minutes before going out through my door
in the morning
after deep long sleep
quick shower
good breakfast
I'd stuff the small bag with just a few clothes
maybe one book
maybe just one pad, one pen
But no, not me

five books at least,
crochet wool and hooks,
clothes for every likely event
writing things- more than a few
change of shoes
slippers too
I'd take my guitar if I could
and the sewing machine, that would be good

God forbid I should get bored
whilst I'm away,
Or that I may sit
and not do
anything

Going away brings me more aware
Of my self, my discomforts inside
Going away from the familiar homescape
means I'm coming along too
for the ride

perhaps I can risk feeling present
being in the here and now

five books or none,
I can't escape
inside my bag of things,
the presence of reality will still be there
following
profound
and constant

here and now
there's always now
the present
presence
and me