hotel california

someone is tossing petals in a stream

somewhere someone is standing at the foothills of their dreams

antje duvekot – “merry go round”

 

this last luxe night in santa barbara -

raced all day from shower to meeting

from web portal to grandson’s college

to ojai and carne asada, past beaches

and breakers once, twice, four times

if you count yesterday or was it the day before

 

yesterday afternoon was a dank car

and unwilling walkers, misted vistas

then faucets of rain and my hair curling

silver corkscrews, dressed in swingy black

dancing until the sky cleared, blown hard

to reveal showoff-girlfriend stars and

a more than half hung yellow moon

 

near seacliff

the shallow seabed reaches for the

dark blue deep, green and teal mix where

huge ragged waves rear and spill,

spray flying a story tall, drops hanging

together in an egg white haze over the sand

and the road, violent beating belting water

that scares me, says remember phuket

and know how small you are in this

 

i was going to stop

with my iphone camera on the way back

to the hotel, the ocean now glassy,

the waves barreled and perfect, the surfers

bobbing, waiting, black neoprene dots

on the glistening blue beyond the rocks

 

but i couldn’t

stop, couldn’t wait another hour

for solitude and a washed face with

every wrinkle showing, eyeliner gone,

big dog t-shirt and baggy pants,

glacier-ice contact half-moons floating

in a case instead of on my irises, hair

in clips and a big bite of donut in my mouth

peets coffee erasing my headache

finally

 

no body, no bodies, no one

but me and this quiet, this soft light

no warm arms or weight hollow

no splashed sink or soggy towel,

no helpful directions or not-so,

no but why are you stopping in morro bay

 

i dropped mr. forte at the train station -

a man with a homeless tan, his life in

a hefty bag dragging on the platform, aiming for

a conversation or a dollar from

my man in a navy windbreaker with an

airplane logo, a briefcase, waiting

for the amtrak south from camarillo

 

i will miss you

i always think a week isn’t long

enough to empty the bitchiness reservoir

to stop clenching my teeth and rolling

my eyes. i can’t wait to miss you, i think

so i hurry back and skip the beach only

to find that i already wish

you were here

 

//////////////////////

 

i don’t write poetry and this isn’t a poem. i’m not sure what it is exactly, but it just seemed to hit the paper in this form so i left it. when you’re on the road, you can get away with things.