Traveling Poem by Ronald Wallace

Who would have thought I'd end up
with plantar warts, Morton's neuroma,
a torn lateral meniscus, gastro-intestinal
disorders, scoliosis, slipped discs, degenerative
spine disease, sore teeth, general arthritis?
Ah, age! How it becomes me!
But all of these are as nothing
next to the amputations of emptiness,
the stumps of unspecified depression,
that baggage of lightweight meaninglessness
that has become so much a part of me
that I can never leave it behind, now
when it costs more and more to fly,
a surcharge for every checked bag.
I think I used to be happy, I who was
interminably healthy, I who would
never die. But maybe that's just the
nostalgia talking. So many little deaths!
All my life I've been studying
how not to come over to the dark side,
and now the dark side's come over
to me! Recently I've taken up shadow
boxing, and my shadow's been winning!
My constant traveling companion, no matter
how hard I try to pack light.