I’m talking to my man. He’s not talking to me. He promised tickets for the airplane ride. I want to ride the airplane into the ocean. They let me go into closets. I wonder if I’ll ever come back, but I’m not scared. They tell me everything. I buy lunch for my lady. We aren’t uptight. Our table gets dirty. She maintains reasonable expectations. I see next Wednesday like it is on film from yesterday. I absorb the fog, and I vow to turn left, move to turn left before a cement truck hits us.
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Blog: Stillfugue Topics:Fiction, Poetry, Essays
stillfugue 
#1 by carldagostino on April 9, 2011 - 8:00 am
My “man” provided train tickets. Different transportation but same destinations. I wondered if I was ever coming back too. Unlike you I was scared. Then I learned I would never be coming home for as the Beatles foretold “…once there was a way to get back home again…”
But once you’ve boarded the train or plane there is no going back. The important thing is to be able to get off the train or plane so you can start anew. wherever that new place may be. I was quite a travel agent in those days.
#2 by Carl on April 10, 2011 - 7:07 am
The important thing is to get off, settle anew in a peaceful manner. I wonder how many times I have done that.
#3 by screen_scribbla on April 9, 2011 - 2:54 pm
Does the turn left bring greater tragedy, I wonder?
#4 by Carl on April 10, 2011 - 7:10 am
That is a good question. I don’t have any good idea about that. Maybe someday a sequel will come to mind. 🙂