Ode on a Deuter Pack

Thou still unfill’d-up sack of emptiness,
Thou cavern of zippers and bungee cords,
Sylvan world traveler, who canst thus possess
The lot I need to cross both field and fjord:

What bright green fabric gussies up thy shape
Of charcoal straps or blue rain-shields, or both,
With adjustable hip and shoulder pads,
What air-conditioning mesh preventing sloth?
What side pockets? What map pocket as well?
What loops and clips here? What wild ecstasy?

Ah, happy, happy hiker! cannot feel
Your weight, nor ever bid your Snacks adieu;
For access pockets unwearièd,
From any angle letting hands search through
More happy pack! more happy, happy pack!
For ever large and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever gaping, and for ever slack;
All breathing human camping you’re employ’d.

O torso shape! fair compression! with brede
of name and brand embroider’d on the front,
Through forest branches, over trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost take of pounds the brunt
As doth gravity: Beautiful Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, for other travelers
Than this, a vault for mess kits and toothpaste.
Beauty is pack, pack beauty,—that is all
ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.