I packed the room and cleaned the floors,
Plastic bags left brimming and bulging
With cast out papers and pens and
Old clothes that shan’t be worn again.
I sold the rest for what I could,
What little crowns were fetched
I paid into a bank account I refused to close.
Because I might come back. I might come back…
There’s no nostalgia there, just lights
from the castle which Jaggar invested,
The Zizkov tower erecting from behind
my old bedroom window where so many times
I stood erect with as much in my left hand – the urban naturist.
So now I’m packed
And unpacked again.
I got on a plane
And got off again.
A little further from home
A little more unknown.
A little more time to tap at keys aimlessly
As a kimchi plate awaits me
In the school cafeteria.
So I moved to South Korea to be an English teacher and now I have more time to write. Or I plan to write more… or… I will… either or.