Oct 20, 2009 20:02
World Traveler
We sat for hours
speaking of ways to get anywhere but here.
We made up plans as our fingers traced the outlines of coastlines we wanted to see.
I want to sleep in the sand and let my hair get crusty from the salt.
Call my parents from Toronto just to tell my dad, "I've made it."
Hold hands on the flat plains of the prairies.
Last night we walked for hours
whispering of ways we could sneak away.
Car, truck, plane.
I've always wanted to take a train from one side to the other.
We're to young to think of the money we'd lose.
I'm going through college on scholarships and you want to be a mechanic.
We have no sense of right and wrong.
I took the roadmap from your glove compartment.
And when I lie in bed I imagine we're anywhere but here.
world traveler,
original poetry