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Saturday, April 25, 2015

A Time Share and A Tummy Ache

Across the Sea

 There was a time,
when my legs still worked
and my feet did not hurt
and we were too young
to fear exotic places.
There was a time ,
when drachmas were still used,
before the euro ruse,
and we’d hop on a ferry to
some island
we did not know,
just a place to go,
trusting, without a doubt,
it would all work out.
We even floated on the Nile,
northward, from Aswan
to Luxor, the only way to
see the Johnny Carson ruins,
the temple of Karnak.
That was before the crazies
started shooting people, with
real-life Uzi’s,
real-life bullets,
real-life hate.
Mugged three times,
we still went,
the big cities,
Barcelona, Paris, London, the rest,
all called us and we answered,
driving, walking, snapping,
truly blessed.
Now, I can’t imagine travel,
it’s harder to see,
and there’s a lot more than an ocean
between other countries and me.
I understand my father now,
after they
opened him up,
closed him up,
why he said no
to a trip to the Old Country.
He knew.

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