I'm leading a quiet life

As I sit here waiting for the bus

contemplating it.

I've explored the crumbling ruins of Rome

and wandered the paths of Avignon

cobblestone paths

worn smooth by earlier explorers

I have spent the night in a moving cabin

too small to be seen

and dozed off to its

bumpity bump bump

as the train winds

higher through the mountains of Spain.

I can still smell the damp air of the Grand Canal

and hear the paddle

pushing black and sleek through Venetian waters.

I can still smell the dry smoke

of an English pub.

Large men with thick beards

eating fish and chips

The twang of cockney like curious music

to an unaccustomed ear

like mine.

I have seen masterpieces

in the Louvre

and the Met

and places whose names I cannot pronounce.

The Mona Lisa has smiled at me

The melting slippery sliding clocks of Dali

have chimed their crooked hours out to me

The Scream has made me pull my hair

and holler

I've looked down from the lighthouse

the Empire State Building,

the Eiffel Tower,

the Statue of Liberty,

I want to climb higher

But the familiar face of my home

with the green freshly cut lawn

is where I will always return

for now ...

till then, I'm waiting

I'm waiting for the dog to stop barking

and the rain to stop falling

and for the bus to come.