the road trip up north

i can

still taste the wonder

of that soft

roll

filled with the white

meat

of lobsters

just pulled from

the North Atlantic Ocean,

when we stopped at

the roadside

shack

near Cape Cod.

fifty years ago.

the three of us in a van,

driving north

to Boston

to see the Red Sox play

at Fenway.

sleeping

on the side of the road,

eating

and drinking along

the way,

talking about life

and love,

school, what lay beyond

our youth.

having no answers, no

clues,

but unworried

by it all.

we were bound to press

on.