Interstate Bike Trip

All we had was One Trash Bag, and One Trash Bag

to hold all of your gear on a 10-day bike trip isn't that much.

We had One Trash Bag.

One trash bag for each of our sleeping bags,

which both fit inside one trash bag as if they were

meant to be stored there, as if they were meant to be stored in a trash bag.

We also carried our two rolls of toilet paper

in that same trash bag, as more comical support than anything else.

I mean, we weren’t stopping for anything.

But it didn't matter because we had one trash bag.

One glad, force flex trash bag while we traveled into the enigmatic

portions of Western Mass foot over pedal, over foot, over pedal.

We crossed into jerkwater towns, passed through a whole city of chairs,

and halfway through the day made a pit stop at an isolated chapel, on top of hill, that we figured

consisted of one gigantic insestual family. I'm sorry if your from Templeton, MA.

But we had only One Trash Bag, and that was enough

to keep our hope inside, all smooshed up against some stale Cheetos.

We proved that One Trash Bag could hold a lot more than face value

and we used the same Trash Bag to hold everything:

all of our stupid jokes,

all of our pictures,

and all the countless strange memories

that we only speak of to each other.

Yeah, we only brought

One Trash Bag strapped to the same

bike-rack that our vagrant mindsets

were, and in the end our trash bag evolved.

Not only did it hold our possessions

but our trash bag became them,

like water in an glass molding

to the shape of it's container.

It became our hope

it became our comical support

it may have became our Toilet paper at one point,

and it even became our sleeping bag

as we fell asleep inside it; our one trash bag,

on the first day of our journey,

ass-to-ass,

while the hurricane of

the century bore down outside.