Excursions

She was dreaming again, longing to leave her workdesk
To walk on some shore where water lapped and seagulls cried.

She was chained to her chair, reading papers stacked high
And dry, machinery grating her ear and her elbow scarred

By a damned metal filing cabinet.  She felt like some denier,
Some renegade pushing through bushes, blade in hand,

Some idiot wanting an excursion out of life to a fascinating place,
An unreal scene that didn't involve one's body moving, that did

Involve some quiet, horizontal meditating and a light breeze.
Here though, no shore, no trees, and no water except the kind

One needs galoshes and an umbrella for.  And there had to be
One place in the world without a telephone or a screen.  She wanted

To be Amazonian, some big-busted woman wearing furs and skins,
Paddling her own canoe, catching fish.  One place in the world

Had to exist, where living wasn't a cursory thing, where one's day
Didn't comprise tea trolleys, deadlines, and the five o'clock rush.

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