During the last few days

of what I hope will be

my last work trip of this summer,

I noticed the absence of junk

usually orbiting me by this time

when the scales of desirous displacement

tip my thoughts 

back towards home.

Quite tired of traveling,

right now I only sense

the alarms waking me up at five a.m.

or the lack of a regular schedule 

that makes each day into three

beneath the banner of 

not knowing what comes next.

There is a fear that results from only

the abundance of exhaustion,

and I assume I passed by that station

at least two weeks in the past.

But I won’t bring back 

these raw and exposed nerves

to the junk drawer awaiting me at home;

among the receipts, tickets, and photos

of our victories and defeats

will be the ample hours laughing at each other

in the cars and rooms we will never see again. Thankfully.