Feature photo: Martin French — Norma Miller

Saturday, December 18, 2021

To journey,

To live,

With earnings,

To give,

To share.

And until resting right here,

Yeah—there.

.

.

.

To see,

What we hear,

Enough to taste the joyous fear.

They don’t teach this in schools.

Religions scold, ruled by fools.

That fool is also me,

Traveling to speak,

Voyages shared by an inner me,

Because I felt it as I breathed,

It’s the same air an airplane needs.

And how so you celebrate me?

Gagging tequila between dry heaves.

That ain’t so sloppy—please.

I’m being the best of me.

A partying writer who enjoys the scene.

Of people in happy places,

Not mean.

I’m a poetic thinker,

Millennial being.

Reminding Gen Z,

I am not twenty-three.

But an 80’s baby—you see…

‘Nick at Nite’ kid,

Who dreamed,

That by thirty-five,

Life’s dance would also sing.

-Budd

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