Packing

Twenty is the number, to which he aspires
He bins the reciepts, throws away fliers
-even the ones he wanted to save
For shows he was in, or perhaps the odd rave
They all go together, to the bins out the back,
All paper is equal now- it's all bric-a-brac;
Next come the posters, which gave the walls colour,
He gives them to friends, leaves the room that much duller
Then there are letters, which he really can't bin,
He puts them in a folder and hopes they'll fit in
His case, HIS CASE! Where is his case?!
Oh right, he put it in the cupboard, to try and save space
He can throw out some clothes, to try and make room
For the gifts he's been given, the odd new heirloom
The socks with the holes, and the shirt that he's torn-
Makes room for one gift, so which shall he scorn?
He'll leave that for later, moves onto the books
But they're all so evocative, and here is the crux
of the problem- he wants to retain
His grasp on the life that's he carved out- in vain
He can't keep ahold, he must loose his grip
That's what happens when you travel, some things simply slip
Away from your sight, away from your reach
But you still have the memories- the parties, the beach,
The long walks with Jason, the drinks at the Clyde,
Rolling in a ball with water inside,
Laughing with Charlotte, Laughing AT Logan,
The time Aspen taught you to speak like a bogan,
Stamping your foot for Emily's assistance,
Wearing that football kit at Andrew's insistence,
Seeing the penguins, seeing Geoff Rush,
The time that you got lost walking the bush
You have to move on and, yes, it's a drag,
But you can't fit a year inside of a bag,
So, go get a move on, pack up your clothes-
And stop wasting time on writing shit prose