Brandon Branson’s backpack
is unusually large.
He drags it into school
the way a tugboat drags a barge.

The main compartment holds
about a hundred hardback books.
The outside has a zillion
little pockets, strap and hooks.

Inside it has his calculators,
one for every class,
plus eighty markers, pens and pencils,
adding to it’s mass.

It holds his new harmonica
plus three or four kazoos,
his binder and his lunchbox
and an extra pair of shoes.

Of course it has his mittens
with his winter coat and hat,
a soccer ball, a basketball,
a baseball glove and bat.

A CD player, headphones,
and a TV, with remote,
a telephone, computer,
and another hat and coat.

His skateboard and his scooter
have their own equipment rack.
It even has a space to park
his bicycle in back.

A teacher found it in the hall
today at 1:15,
She looked around for Brandon
who was nowhere to be seen.

She got some other teachers
who considered it and frowned,
then groaned and moaned and pulled
and dragged it off to lost and found.

They struggled through the doorway
feeling out of breath and strained,
and all of them were curious
to see what it contained.

They cautiously unzipped it
and they pulled it open wide,
and there was Brandon Branson
napping happily inside.