The Travel Bug
The desire starts with a twitch in
my foot
when I’m driving.
It wants to hit the gas and go
past
the usual grocery store run
out in open highways
over the mountains.
Then when I’m doing laundry,
instead of folding things neatly
and putting them in a drawer,
I want to roll up the jeans, tops,
and unmentionables
and stuff them in my suitcase.
Then the trains, the ship, the
planes,
the canyons the oceans, the
savannahs,
call my name
like chocolate does sometimes
from the cupboards.
I’ve got the travel bug.
No comments:
Post a Comment