Traveling on

 Across the Sea

There was a time,

when our legs still worked

and our feet did not hurt

and we were too young

to fear exotic places,

never considered illnesses.

There was a time,

when drachmas were still used,

before the euro ruse,

and we’d hop on a ferry to

somewhere, 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.

It was an earlier time 

with only two smallish cruisers,

one going north, the other south,

five days with stops along the way,

with local transportation,

one day a carriage, 

another a bus,

once a walking tour,

then even a felucca.

That was a time

before the crazies

started shooting people, with

real-life Uzi’s,

real-life bullets,

real-life hate.

My sweetie was 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.

Yes, there really was that time.

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 when

I offered 

a trip to the Old Country before

it was too late.

He knew that time had passed.