Travelogue II  On the Road Again

We passed through high plains, flat as a pancake

northern New Mexico into the topsy-turvy, windy

windy (with a long “i”), uppy, downy Colorado.

We had just exchanged seats. She’s driving; I’m

scribbling, trying to jot down notes for future poems.

Sign says, “Bumps Beware.”  The road is rough and

I have just discovered that, while not a Pentecostal, I

write in glossolalia.  Maybe that makes me a

Pentecostal man of letters or perhaps just a man of

illegible letters.  Life has leveled in Trinidad (We’ve

come so far so fast and so much has changed.) The

road has smoothed, the paper has stopped jumping and

my hand has steadied. I’m back to being a middle-of-the

road, mainline, middle-class, mundane minister

right here in anything but mundane rather sultry, exciting,

exotic Trinidad.  I run in my bare feet on the hot, hot

sand like Dudley Moore and dive into the blue, blue water.

In my mind, from one to ten, it’s a ten.