*My older shoulder bag gave out today. Two people commented on its passing--thought this was a sign I should write about it.

Just like any old bag

it rode my shoulder

for what seemed a lifetime.

A constant, reliable companion.

Save--

a few makeshift repairs

the prerequisite

but hardly terminal tears.

It had an indeterminate

shade of green

a design of some bird

perhaps an eagle

that had long-ago

lost its sheen.

 

But then

an insignificant parcel

some cheap Schlitz beer

cracked its weathered seam

and newspapers, books, old journals

were splayed

on the pavement floor.

A tortured bouquet

of threads

was left in its stead.

 

And after--

for a long while

my back felt stripped and naked

I didn't feel right

and now the load I carry

never seems light.