The movers come tomorrow.
I wipe January’s to-do list from the white board
We never got around to updating.
The plans we made linger,
The ghosts of the great potential the new year
Laid out before us.
Each tick mark faithfully declining
Until, then, the halt of forward momentum. The
Days that stopped.
Perhaps next year, next duty station
Next month, next KD billet, next school year, next race,
Next rest stop, next tick mark on the list.
The movers come tomorrow.
I’ll call you from the road.