Luggage

Five-year-old me
watched my powder blue suitcase
ride away
on the conveyor
behind the ticket desk,
to emerge hours later,
onto the baggage carousel
of another airport,
and thought
how silly it was
that my family
didn’t do the same
instead of flying there
in a plane.

91/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…