Waiting to Pass

Hazy waiting for the coming,

the domestic goddess is weary;

all that scrupulous scrubbing,

paper towel waxing and bleach...

lavender for the scenting.

A slow steady disappearance

of memento and souvenir

of the permanent.

Give me a pink slip,

I'm ready to fly

prankster-like;

all possessions 

in a duffle bag on wheels

in peace, love, and rocking.

I've learned the art of patience,

tempered at times, but all

in the mastery of wile.

When there's nothing to do

in the making of accumulation,

the desire of the heart calls,

dare it be cluttered

in stuff and mortgage... I think not.

Release me from

this path of rightness-

it was good, but my wings

are beating in the rhythm

of gypsy... the future is waiting.

Each day to be plaited

as a rite of passage,

moment over moment,

wonder over write,

shuddering over shutter,

me and my rebels... a knotly trio.

Deliver us from convention-

we're ready to meet

the milky way, prickly desert,

red mountains under shy sun,

beaches with nary

a beach ball umbrella.

Shiver me timbers

in redwood and mist...

Rainier from a crying forest,

heartland, badlands, wetland,

dusty bowl of wheat and dive...

This highway of now... too slow

for the jive travelers

of a chartreuse dream.

Let us loose,

we're all revved up

in bated wait;

ready to pass...

All signs point to goooo and daddy-o.