Where Things Go
Etiquette decrees the place for knife and fork and spoon.
Cocktails belong with sunsets. A wedding goes with June.
Placement is determined by a sort of mass assent.
Snail mail goes in mailboxes. E-mail goes where it’s sent.
Freckles belong on noses and fingernails on fingers.
Perfume should stay in bottles, not in places where it lingers
to make allergic folks like me sneeze and carry on.
It’s a fact that things smell better after the perfume’s gone.
Sheiks belong in palaces, safari guides in tents.
Molls belong with gunmen whereas ladies go with gents.
Gloves are filled with fingers and socks with only holes,
since fingers simply do not go with garments that have soles.
Arms on sweaters, legs on pants. Astronauts in space.
Cats on cushions, birds in trees and eyebrows on your face.
Everything has someplace where it is meant to go.
Missionaries in Africa, tarts with men with dough.
Tiaras go on beauty queens, a dunce hat on a dunce,
or on those of us who want everywhere at once.
We use up fossil fuel flying here and there.
One moment we’re in taxis, the other in the air.
We aren’t really sure at all where we want to be:
mountain, beach or meadow, river, lake or sea.
There is a site on Google showing every single minute
where each plane is going carrying all the people in it.
This one wants to be where that one was just hours ago.
They have to take a Learjet. Other airplanes are too slow.
People flowing elsewhere like water in a stream,
giving up the here and now for places in a dream.
Sometimes I think I’m tired of moving here and there
and that my favorite place of all is right here in my chair.
I’ll give up future travels for places in my head.
My favorite place is in my mind. I’ll travel there instead!
The Prompt: Places–Beach, mountain, forest, or somewhere else entirely?