The Backpack Press

All I need in the morning, I think,

I think all that I need in the morning is to know my pants fit.

You can’t complain really if your pants fit.

Then, I guess I‘d like water – cold to make coffee,

Hot to shower.

Can I get a raisin scone too?

That’s not too much, is it?

I like scones.

Lots.

And you know, if my pants fit, I should be good.

But maybe a croissant a la plancha

Like they make in that place in Barcelona?

I remember that time in the hotel,

The waiter explaining how to say that awkward

French word

In Spanish,

Spelling it out slowly to unsuspecting

American tourists.

“Coruosan.”

And you know, if my pants fit, I should be good.

But maybe if the sky had some fluffy clouds?

Is that too much to ask?

And a breeze to sweep my hair off my face a bit?

I don’t need cloud-less, I need cloud more

So I can take some pictures

And share them with my kids

To watch them roll their eyes

And say, “So?”

And you know, if my pants fit, I should be good.

But maybe a seat on the train?

I like to get a seat by the time my train gets to 149.

Otherwise, I have zip chance in Hades

Of getting one at 125.

On the night train home, I just stand by

The fancy people who never go all the way uptown by me.

I bet their pants fit.

I bet they don’t even think about it, being fancy and all.

And you know, if my pants fit, I should be good.

Because I have pants, and I have water

And I can buy my scones on the corner,

Just out the back door.

Clouds and breezes are great

But not really needed,

Not every day at least.

I can even sleep better knowing

In the morning, my pants will fit.

After all, they are my pants

After all, mostly there’s hot water,

After all, if I just run the tap, there’s cold too,

After all, what makes me happiest is just this little thing:

Pants or no pants,

Even when I order croissants

In Spain,

I am no longer an unsuspecting

American tourist.