“Last Bag” by Peter J. Grieco
There’s got to be a last bag rising
out of the long chute at Logan–last
in the string of dolphins leaping
with joy — we’ve arrived home!
motley travelers — & then nothing
for the last guy who waits. I wait
for mine, imagining its mixed contents,
nothing I couldn’t bear to miss, to leave
behind — all that baggage — excepting
the Swiss pocket knife I was forced
to check, a parting present from Nadine.
The rest is foul, dirty, worn.
Though to mention
it, I wouldn’t mind seeing my sneakers
again. Nothing in it like in Rachel’s
daypack when security interrogated her.
Specifications on explosive substances.
Her half-eaten banana. Guide books
for Brazil. I told her she should write
a novel. Here, the sniffer dog is cute,
a beagle tired children want to pet.
This one had cried half of the way
across the sunny ocean. Ah! — there
you are, old friend! I clasp you tight,
my accidental lover & descend into
the chaos of America, without looking
back for who might, still, be waiting.
|Peter J. Grieco has been writing and publishing poems, both in print journals and on-line, in a variety of styles over the past five years. He is a native of Buffalo, NY, where he is a mathematics student at Buffalo State College.|