Packing my
steamer trunk
snow began falling
A trick to pack enough
can never take it all
The khaki or loden
worsted or twill
a hat or knife
a boot too much
overfilling the bill
Saw solid gold idols
far north of Katmandu
Rode camels for a week
sipped tea in Timbuktu
Looked for El Dorado
sailed on seven seas
Rode across Bolivia
over the Pyrenees
Shrunken heads
Beds of nails
Golden cup
Tiger’s tail
Crystal skull
The magic lyre
These and more
have crossed my trail
each has left a curious tale
Grandpa and I dug for clams
at low tide nasturtiums thrashed
at the old canvas circus tent
disturbing my slumber
Rose from my cot
slipped into storm gear
rolled my bike into the night
Muddy tracks hugged an agate beach
Rode a ridge threading arcadian wilds
pines heaved rhododendrons on my legs
This engine drove me to rush the moon
huge and orange over a winding river
Rode my brakes down the wet trail
skidded until I stormed the beach
Marina's swinging electric lights
hissed among rainy shadows
dancing the slick boardwalk
Mud splattered from tires
sticking to my knickers
At the far end off the pier
moored the dark teak and ivory
brass trimmed Waterfalls of Suriname
Raindrops pounded my helmet, peered in
a tree twinkled in the candlelit salon
cheery on the mahogany counter
supper wafted from the decks
Pulling anchor to head East
Full sail, bone in her teeth
she made for the far islands
drawn like a shimmering wraith
white speck blown into the horizon
Waterspouts shot skyward, splashing
I dug against a fresh northerly wind
My task was done and the meal won
Sand beneath my the toes and feet
sucked away by the incoming tide
Wondered how my life would be
Were I like so many folks I see
Sitting with the wife and kids
Brushing both of our dogs
In our two-story home
With pool and nursery
I’m raging with this bike
Rushing a moon dusk set free
I'm not broke, bent, scared of life
Afraid of anything resembling a thrill
Get answers from the same source
The same grind and the same mill
Shouldn’t tell you my secret lives
Or the sources of my pleasures
Or where to find my treasure
The dangers of full measure
Like a well-worn cookie jar
Tugs of many little hands
Where I’m exploring for
Is always the deepest
Dug the lowering tide
I ate the clams boiled
Windslashed nasturtiums
Pounded the old canvas tent
One-handed Scrabble by gas lamp
Coal black night and the campfire spent
I ate clam chowder, lost word games
Learned of the rain, sea and sand
I zipped on my weather suit
Left the warm, dry tent
Riding into the rain
I love being dry
As the world is wet
Riding through a storm
Knobby tires splashing mud
Rushing a moon huge and orange
Rising from the banks of a sumptuous river
Digging clams is like life, how you muck
Through the sand to find what's good
A cookie jar with a cookie in there
Baked from my favorite recipe
Cookie with my name on it
In a bleak, cold universe
and the harder I pedal
The better the taste
Rushing the moon
Because I can