Seattle's Last Slew

Photos: Me outside the original Starbucks @ Pike Place, where we enjoyed standing in a long line to buy a cup of java. (Bottom photo): Becky standing outside the Pike Place Market with the other 100,000 losers.

When the smoke had cleared last Sunday (along with the usual northwestern fog and rain) Becky and I had completed a long trek across the continent and had seen some incredible sights . . . along with our usual fare of hand-holding and smooching like newlyweds (you oughta try it after twenty-seven years of marriage!).

I had also picked up the writing bug again, having taken a week-long break from scribbling words, and began writing down story ideas, essay themes, and lines of poetry on napkins, scrap paper, and hotel stationery.  I've got a sizable pile of ideas, along with my travel notes, sitting at home right now . . . more than I can ever accomplish.  But I've got to get crackin'.

Several folks had warned me about the horrendous Seattle traffic (and yes, it was BAD), but I didn't find it excruciatingly maddening (like Chicago and New York can be).  Somehow we managed to drive off the ferry at Pier 54, into the city, take the correct turns, and locate our hotel. And last Sunday night we drove from hotel to the airport with only one wrong turn, and that because there were construction detours everywhere.  And I thought Indianapolis was the only city where road construction projects lasted three years.

By this time I'd laundered all of my poems, and they had done their job . . . testing my old lady's emotional limits and bringing the occasional tear (the last of which was in the airport during our five hour wait pre-flight).  I don't think I'll share most of these on this blog, though this batch contained some of my best verse ever . . . but I can offer this one, not romance exactly, but one that is thoughtful in its own right.  Not sure why I wrote it or where it came from.  Just a sonnet for another stage of life, I suppose.

The Salutatorian

Here on the threshold of tomorrow
We greet life's possibilities with hope,
Eager to fulfill our horoscope
And embrace the paths our lives may follow.
We graduate into cliche,
Our aspirations high while deep in debt,
Feeling, somehow, that we shall not forget
Each sordid tryst or meaningless essay.

And should we find these years worthwhile,

Or lessons learned while in a state of grace,

Perhaps we shall redeem the time and smile

Through jobless prospects and the protocol

That turns the world and reveals face-to-face

The truths we do not know, but might learn, after all.