To departures

Living in a different country from where I was born and lived til I was 25 means that I still travel frequently to the UK to visit friends and family. Although it is possible to travel between Italy and the UK via car and/or train, I tend to fly, which means the first leg for leaving Italy is to get to the airport. My anxious 'stream of consciousness' on one such journey to the airport inspired this poem.

To the Airport

I forgot to brush my teeth (again),

Or floss, or wash, or rinse.

So now they feel all fuzzy,

and I'm sure that my breath stinks.

I forgot to empty out the fridge

and throw out anything fresh.

The oranges and tomatoes

will go mouldy through their mesh.

I forgot to send the birthday card

that I put by the door in the hall.

In all my haste and anxiety

I'm not a good friend at all.

I forgot to tell the milkman

I don't need milk this week.

I hope no one steals it,

but then again it doesn't keep.

I forgot to take my medicine,

the one at half-past nine.

I left it under the mirror.

I can't go back this time.

I forgot to tell my neighbour 

that I won't be round for tea.

It's the second time I can't make it.

I hope she'll forgive me.

I forgot to pack my wallet

I think I know where it is.

It's on the kitchen table,

or maybe in the fridge.

I forgot to note the area

of where I parked my car.

When I return I'll find it,

I'm sure it won't be hard.

It seems that while travelling

from home to departure gate

I've forgotten many things

but at least I am not late!