The Trip
Today we ate blueberry pancakes with warm maple butter
after waiting an hour for our table at the baking company to take the train upstate
As the yellowing trees whooshed past our windows
and competed with the shoreline for real estate
And I slept upon your shoulder
So we could crunch the leaves beneath our feet
as we walked along the river and sang to ourselves the most beautiful hymns about forever
And I asked you what you feared and you said everything
And you asked what I feared and I said fear
It was reading old 1800s postcards in the vintage stores
Turning through the cut crystal and racks of polyester at the vintage store
British bath soaps and salad cream and Woolrich shearling vests
It was the painted wooden doors and original frames of houses holding wall-mounted flat-screen TVs
as we longed for the trappings of nature ill-afforded those of city life
whose escapees exercised their privilege on $400 saddlebags
as if the emotion of the journey could somehow be contained within a few souvenirs
or homemade jam from the general store
How we gleefully rushed into the limbo of being fish out of water
Speeding bullets who hit blocks of gelatin, turning over in their trajectories
Stopped mid-collision before reaching their targets
In which we were the collateral damage in our own lives
Perceived Brooklynites in a town of upstaters
Wonting and not belonging, welcome to a fair point
Let’s not overstay our welcome
Lest everything we worked for be tossed out in the morning
