Warehouse

Everyday I move boxes from
somewhere to somewhere,
never knowing what I move –

The smell of dust glazed upon the package,
the folded, pressed treasure chest,
with all its wonder and its secrets –
maybe I ship diamonds to far off islands,
or guns for noble revolutions;
maybe they hold food for poor young children
in countries I will never see,

or maybe they are just old boxes,
and these are just my daydreams,
and I am still a boy…

Andrew Venegas
San Jose
SJSU
poetry