Jeff McCallum

                         Two for One

We’re all going on the same journey

some of us just get a chance to pack first

or is it unpack?

We don’t realize at the beginning

we’re working our way toward the finish light

or is it line?

It’s something that happens along the way

sometimes

sometimes it never occurs to us

even and unless someone leaves

to begin his journey

leaving us somewhere on the path

It’s like two journeys really

the path we travel

carve

amble or race along

plunge head first

or sidle along

not bothering to taste the nectar

afraid to feel the wind at our face

or laughing in the face of impossible storms

and the path that marks the end

and to some

the true beginning

It seems impossible to pack for the second

unlikely one would need a toothbrush

a change of underwear

or formal attire

Some say it’s deeds of loving kindness

we must have stored somewhere

or a heart as pure as Galahad

Some that we must be born again

and I don’t think they are playing with words

Others that’s it simply another beginning

a fresh start on a new path

another turn of the wheel

in never ending journey

Everything from virgins sweet

to burning fire awaits the weary traveler

though I sometimes wonder

what the women get

especially the virgins

Something in pink?

Something secret and special?

and if it’s only men on the right and left hand

where they sit?

Whatever book one swears by

adheres to

or violates the tenets of

there is still the matter of the journey

the first trip

the one where we feel we matter

after all

who are we in the after all?

Some just take a knapsack

carry memories and joy as they travel

plucking this and that from here and there

planting smiles like Johnny Appleseed

others begin with Gucci luggage

keep it under lock and key

have porters carry the burden

pull and pry prizes from the earth

and those around them

It doesn’t matter really

they’re traveling the same highway

making a different pilgrimage

to the same city

It’s those whose journey ends before they arrive

joggers dropping from the path

in the prime of life

children and innocents

caught in the cross fire

of somebody’s agenda

that I would cry for

They had no time to pack

or unpack

no warning shot across the bow

The old and the slow

the diagnosed and dying

we have been given a gift

the gift of time

not

that we use it well

plant smiles and apple trees on every corner

but we could