When I wrote this poem, the quick passage of time on vacation was a real problem, and very disturbing. Now, a week from retirement, it seems that my time left as an employed teacher is the paste I can't get back in the tube.
Once it’s gone…
Christopher Bogart
Vacation days are so very different
from the other days of the year.
They go so fast,
and no matter how you try to drag them out,
they seem to fly by anyway.
Kind of like trying to slide the toothpaste
back into the tube.
Or like those cans that explode with cloth-covered springs.
No matter how hard you push them back in the can,
there just never seems to be the room
for all of those springs.
You try to wedge them in,
stuffing your fingers into the can
to keep them from springing out,
you just can’t seem to…
I’m just saying.
Once the day has past,
you just can’t seem to get it back again.
Once it’s gone,
it’s gone.
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