So, why was I in Astoria, Oregon? I was sorta invited to an open mic poetry read by a lady I was trying to establish a long distance relationship with.
I made it to the open mic event, as did she. I drove further.
The event was great. Astoria is great. There are real writers there. And, mostly, they are my age or older. They were appreciative of my performance and asked me to come back.
She didn’t.
Yet, I still wrote this poem:
Title: First Meeting My pulse is doing it again. You would not want me performing surgery Or even licking stamps. Monarchs have nothing over the butterflies in my stomach. However, I’m here. I’m smiling. This is important because, Because They say at the end of the day What is important? The things? The stories? The love. So here I am. I had things. I know stories. Love, I had and lost. Now I’m searching. And to search is to take risks. And to take risks is to grow and improve. And to improve means my pulse, one day, Will act normal. Or will it? I’m here to meet you. Are you the love that I can now Roll in, relish, relax in? And all because of the First meeting.
Call me an eternal optimist.
Driveabout 