on the day of our travels
4 April 2021
I left my notebook where I wrote a poem
on the dining room table
in a rush to get out the door
make good time
get on the road
We actually did it
left the house while it was still considered morning
slated for arrival in the late afternoon
the front seat filled with pride
This seems like ominous poem
that ends with a car crash and tragedy
but it doesn’t
we pulled into the the A-frame village, and found ours among them
Unless, of course, you consider the forgotten poem scrawled on a forgotten notebook.
