Send Me. Make Me

Just send me
someplace
new.
Different.
Where I know no one.
Where the music and the food is different.

It does not need to be far.
Or it could be.
Somewhere I can be
a stranger.

Where nothing I do matters.
A place without expectations
except pay the bill and be polite
to the waitress.

Send me
someplace
new.
Different.

Where the eyes never quite rest
and the food is a bit iffy.
And if you pray,
or if you don’t,
no one cares.

A place where the light
is different. The colors
are different.

Take me there.
And leave me there
a day or few
until it too starts to become familiar,

and send me on my way,
different.

About this poem

It’s a cliché. Travel changes us.

I am sitting in Stowe, Vermont while the woman I love does a work function. I had coffee in a strange coffee shop. I am eating a crepe for lunch. I never eat crepes for lunch. I don’t know anyone and no one knows me. I left my phone at home (by mistake) so no one can get me.

It’s freeing, being away. And even a trip to Stowe, less than three hours away, has medicinal value. No schedule. No expectations.

I wonder how I will be changed? Be sure, I will.

Tom