I sailed with Marco Polo.
I searched Africa with Stanley
as he looked for Livingston
I walked the Everglades with Bill Bolton
and Osceola.
I did Europe with Henry James
and learned to be more mannerly English
than American.
Postcards, travelogues and maps
were constant reminders
of the big world out there.
Indiana Jones added adventure
to my dull existence.
I asked Sam to play it again
in my Casablanca bar.
No Provincial had more
cosmopolitan dreams than I.
I read of the return to town
of world travelers.
I traced their journeys
on my maps.
And yet I stayed at home.
Each day I got up at the same time
to read more about somewhere else.
Each morning I said good morning to
the same familiar folks.
There is great comfort in the
regular.
Familiar faces indicate
that I belong here.
But why then was I given this restless yearning
to be somewhere else
meeting interesting new faces?