Book passage for you and me,
passport that will set us free.
Gather up old photographs
and other trinkets of our past.
Lock them in a cardboard trunk
and throw away the key.
I started this in 1981 and finished (Is it finished?) it in 1987.
(Old “Poems”: I’ve been writing these little ditties, verses, near-poems since high school. Many are pedestrian; others are real stinkers. Some I still love. I worry that they’ll expire with the inevitable demise of my hard drive, so I decided I’ll put them out here, in the harsh, blistering, stinging, way-too-public cloud to live forever, for good or shame. (To write and self-publish is to court shame. Oh, the hubris!))