A Trip

A kind of poem about a kind of dream?

Trying to go up the rabbit hole, it is dark and tight. Why? There must be a better way? I find a restaurant and eat, not knowing I was supposed to keep the receipt. As it is my out, my ticket past the turnstile and to the lift. Somehow, someway, I talk my way pass. Maybe, because I remembered, what I ate?

The doors open, I’m at the top? I’m told to head towards the bus. That bus? Yes, that bus. It looks a little dodgy, but I’m assured it is correct.

Then somehow, I am with a group of fellow travelers, and there is a clear leader, with a mass of curly hair, tanned golden skin, and smile that goes for miles. But, why am I wearing a baseball cap? I never wear one! So I release, my curls and I make eye contact.

Now, I feel agitated and I am scrambling to look for my stuff. Rummaging through mine and others, gathering up my lost bits. I didn’t bring a towel?

Next, I'm in a room with a guide by my side. I say “obrigado”. I must be in Brazil! I see the slotted windows, with the view of the sea, sky and shore. I smell the salted air and I breathe deep, as I compose the shot.

I wake up, what the hell? I’m in my bed, alone with my mess of curls. Tangled in the sheets, as if my legs walked for miles.

Sun shining, and outside my window, wind blowing the snow off the boughs of trees.

Where is my glass of water, please?

The poetic version of last night’s dream. I think I need to travel soon! My sanity may depend on it, or is it confirmation that the name of my blog was foreshadowing? Dub, dub, dub not a full deck.