Das Vagabonder

What I love

⁃ most

about vacation

is just wandering

wandering aimlessly .

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 beyond their reach,

see-through sheers

flying like ballroom dancers

on lifts of briny breezes

⁃ watching movies,


old American

frontier romance fiction,

then shuffling,


in a pair of well-worn contoured

black leather Berkenstocks,

like a too-tired snail

pulling itself, reluctantly

‘cross a sun-drenched

southern French

terra-cotta-tiled pathway,

a trail of glistening slime

regaling its wake,

every centimeter, a toss


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!

exhorts the whispy

electronic she-voice

14th floor!

a muffled murmur responds

from behind

the faceless

canteen issue


paper pandemic

surgical mask,


an empty


nylon mesh



to my sunny,

breezy window-treated


for just a little bit more


inside, ocean-side

beach-day wandering

⁃ DasVagabonder

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