It's June,
And our living room is filled with boxes.
Again.
Moving,
For us,
Always seems to fall,
Not in autumn or spring,
When it's logical and civilized.
No,
For us.
Moving in winter is not a thing.
Nope,
Summer is the season of change,
Of wrapping,
And packing,
And lifting,
Of loading,
Uprooting.
So,
We play the waiting game,
And turn our home into a warehouse,
Until we can find a new place to land.
At which time we will procure a truck,
And lug our stuff out from under one roof,
And gladly drop it beneath another,
All the while panting,
Sweating,
Dripping,
And cursing ourselves,
Because it's June and we're moving.
Again.
6-12-19
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