I shop for Today,

It’s bric-a-brac.

I bet on the Past.

It’s

last on the track.

I map for the Future, falling like snow,

I stop by the Present,

but it’s all show.

So then

I call on

the never-say-die

where leaves trap the sun

even as it flies,

where something wild

like the seed

of a carrot

cries underground, I just can’t bear it!

Pops out its leaves

and shoots the breeze,

no longer smothered, no longer

squeezed.

Where a man with a hoe

(not yours, not mine)

takes care of the garden

all the time,

and everything we’ll ever know

takes off its shoes, wiggles its toes,

and swims naked

in a long cool river,

where it slowly sheds

twenty four fevers,

while

a tingle of trees, a long way off,

grows ordered and sill. Holds

the sky aloft.

reprinted by permission of author. “Getting Ready to Travel” poetry by Llewellyn McKernan, can be ordered from:

Finishing Line Press

P.O. Box 1626

Georgetown, KY 40324

USA