Das Vagabonder

What I love

⁃ most

about vacation

is just wandering around

at first.

For example,

it was this glorious,


picture perfect

beach day,

but I chose to spend most of it inside,


inside my Marriott Bonvoy

points-paid suite of rooms

with wall-sized

sliding glass doors,

⁃ slid wide open,

windows supervising

a luminescent

azure pounding ocean

just beneath,

see-through sheers

flying like ballroom dancers

on lifts of briny breezes

⁃ watching movies,


old American

frontier romance fiction,

then shuffling, begrudgingly

in a pair of well-worn contoured

black leather Berkenstocks,

out the door

like a too-tired snail

pulling itself across a sun-drenched

southern French

terra-cotta-tiled pathway,

leaving a slimy trail in its wake,

every centimeter, a toss

between all the closer

and just too far

to the beachside cafe

for a hardy

sea-side lunch,

then, when all is said & eaten

the awkward posse of successive

backward tripping steps

⁃ back

onto the bank of elevators:

l-o-b-b-y l-e-v-e-l!

the whispy electronic she-voice

manages to exhort sexily,

14th floor please!

a muffled voice murmurs

through a canteen issue

baby blue

paper pandemic

surgical mask,

schlepping themselves

and an empty black

nylon mesh back-pack,


to my sunny,

breezy window-treated


for just a little bit more


inside, ocean-side

beach-day wandering

⁃ DasVagabonder