13th Time is a Charm

Head pounding, stomach churning
Taste of bile in my mouth (not that I have a gull bladder, mind you)

Boxes to fill, memories to sell
Out the door it goes once more

Starting over, over again
Getting to be a tiring habit of ours

Can't put down roots anywhere
But we are of resilient stock it seems

Can we reduce our lives to just a few boxes?
We will soon see

Where will we land this time?
Hard to tell...oh. hell.

©Debra Weiser 2010