We took a long walk,
just me and Simone. We walked
across the country. When she got tired
I pulled her in a red wagon like
she was Princess Simone. We started
out in winter in Maine among frost giants
and granite, kept to byroads and pathways.
Each night we made a campfire, toasted
white bread and tunafish, gazed
into the flames. A crowd of gray ghostie cats
came and sat with us, disappeared
in the morning. We walked during the day
and rested at night, travelled through the Midwest,
into the bayous and the Plains, set our toes
afire at Galveston. In Taos I traded our wagon
for a pink stroller and Simone agreed
it made for a comfortable ride. I started
calling her Baby Simone till she asked
me to stop. The ghosts visited us
each night around the campfire
just for companionship I thought.
Simone and I looked up at the stars and felt
like explorers or astronauts.
Finally we arrived at the Pacific.
I was pretty footworn and Simone was getting
weary after many months on the road. She
leaped out of the stroller to play
at the water’s edge
in the California sun.