Suitcase (Poetry Monthly)

Week before last, a Tuesday I think. It was overcast. I remember that. I was cleaning the car: an old-gold-roller. Under the carpet, on the passenger’s side, I found a ball of self-control. I thought I’d lost it! I pushed it back into shape; stuck duct-tape over the cracks. I found my suitcase and put it inside. I looked round – The car had gone.

Nine days ago, a Saturday I think. It was dark outside. I remember that. I was in the shed looking for a spanner to tighten the dripping tap waterboarding my brain. I found a tin box on a forgotten shelf, filled with my confidence. It was dented and rusty. I popped out the dents and scraped the rust off. I fixed the lid so it opened and shut again and put it in my suitcase. I returned to stop the leak – the tap had gone.

Five days ago, a Wednesday I think. It was foggy and cold. I remember that. Sitting on my old leather sofa, not listening to the other peoples’ music trying to drill a hole in my eardrums, like an Apple maggot. I picked up a cushion, to throw at the wall. I found some gum of my ambition stuck on the back. I peeled it off. It still smelt of peppermint and tasted of freedom. I washed it and wrapped it in some kitchen foil. I put it in my suitcase. I went to sit down – my Chesterfield was gone.

Yesterday, a Sunday I think. It was stormy. I remember that. I had to replace a loose roof-tile. I found a dried-up corpse underneath it. My pet bluebird, his name was Determination: he escaped from me a long time ago. His feathers were still bright. I said, ‘So there you are.’ I took him off the roof, brushed off the dead leaves and moss. I put him in an empty coffee jar, so he could see where he was going, and packed it in my suitcase – I slept in the garden because the house had gone.

This morning, a Monday I think. It was raining. I remember that. I opened up my suitcase and found myself. I hailed a taxi to take me to an airport. Tomorrow is Tuesday – and it will be sunny.