Welcome Homesick

by Dave Morrison

Just to see if I can
do it, I want to try to
write a long poem, a
rambling poem, a poem
that goes out the door with
no destination in mind, just
the need for fresh air and a
change of scenery, a poem
that gives in to restlessness and
curiosity, a poem that nods to
its neighbors but doesn’t stop to
chat, a poem comfortable with
the lack of a plan, a poem capable
of buying a bus ticket and blocking
out the worries (Is the front door
locked?  Is the cat fed?  What about
work?  Will people think I’ve
lost it?) and following the muse.
I want to write a poem that doesn’t
care how it looks, a poem that
doesn’t mind being stared at or
ignored, a spontaneous poem that
could sleep on a stranger’s couch,
join a party in an Italian restaurant,
or slip into the back of a quiet church.
I want to write a poem that could take
a job in a diner under a made-up
name and create a new life like one
might draw a house design on the
back of a placemat, a poem that would
discover that it was capable of nobler,
or darker acts than it thought possible.
Or maybe the poem walks downtown,
drinks cup after cup of coffee at the bus
station while reading the list of
destinations and watching the daylight
change through the windows, then
walks home with a bottle of wine in
a paper bag, feeds the cat, and takes out
a pen and paper.