The Ride Home
Penni Livingston
I.
The world’s on fire
drowning in tears
of glacial melting
looks like one thing
but its another;
you might think it,
but that doesn’t make it so
Number 1.
patches of locust trees
line the way forward
observing, feeling,
enjoying being present
with no need for persuasion or even opinions
The grey hawk perched on a wire
with no motive beyond the present moment
surveying the heated fields of rice
no need for spoken word
tears delegated to the ocean
evidence of care in landscaped hills
long blooms with berries
hanging on tree after tree
buttercups soaked in sun-
better than soaked in sin!
Great white egrets up to their knees in wet land
a heliconia hiding in a bushy tree
men on bikes carrying long poles
quite odd but surely an acquired skill
what will they do with the poles?
How far must they go?
finally the coconut population
outnumbers the people
cute little towns
modernity juxtapose
no times of trouble
to tremble one’s trousers
catalyst to change
II.
just an ordinary moment
taking the next exit at the turnabout
Caterra la Pacifica something
the sun hiding behind the clouds
that merge with the mountains
ranges of verde and verdad
la playa de- we pass too quickly
or my nose is just too deep in paper
ink in hand distracting my eyes
Mountains peaking in cascades
breaking the sky’s dominance
adventures below the canopy
unknown except to nature itself
our nature lost in space
and time that seems to be still
even as we are moving again
blue immensity
spackled with white clouds
plastering the invisible walls
of atmospheric pressure
no pressure down under today
fish stands scattered along the road’s edge
no alligators visible at the bridge
as Chicago fades from the radio
the ocean appears again
gates to nowhere appear
our eyes impressed with
fancy Indian domes
bleached out red roofs
covered in moss
big eared white cows
dot the verdant pasture
as the ocean view disappears
beer and gas plenteous in supply
in these quaint places
with smiling faces
the ocean switched sides
oh no, no partisanship in paradise
no immersion into agenda
III.
a chicken in a bike basket
well-behaved and trusting
The senses ignite with pleasantness
soft reminders to dance with life
before its over
which comes too soon
for too many
gratitude becomes palpable
realizing the joy of being alive
Vultures present themselves
majesty of the greats denied
but noticed
shadows created from shallow substance
pretty colors holding tight
as bells ring
then another sad song
professing to be about smiles
a frowny lady in bright blue
turns and smiles
as she starts to pump our gas
until her boy takes over
It’s warmer here and no rain
security cameras for our safety
I sit in the hot car, no air moving
no more music, voiceless but content
The muscular and heavy set
mingling without touching
good shoes and no shoes
beards and no beards
My man in blue, hat hiding hair
headed back to rescue me from inevitable sweating
in the no smoking zone of polluting trucks
efficiency is unheard of here
we wait, everyone waits
until it rains
then we hunker in
admiring the mist
bellies wobble
as if purple makes it ok to let yourself go
Frampton comes on- in a foreign country
he loves my way
a run way jumps out at us on the left
a factory for concrete on the right
a cave with a garage door!
Small boxed homes
more than humbling
my disheartenment, another’s joy
to be out of the mild elements
accumulation dismantled
ownership of the sky shared
About this poem: I found this hand written on 6 pages of small blue paper in the bottom of a bag. I wrote it about a month ago in three parts while riding back from whale watching at the ocean in Costa Rica. The ocean was pretty rough first of October but we did see whales and dolphins and also monkeys, cool birds, and baby caimen in a creek. Costa Rica is varied and quite thought provoking.
