Tourist Poem

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Every trip has a low point whether or not you acknowledge it,
sometimes we bounce back quickly

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other times it drags behind us:
wheels creaking on the uneven sidewalk expanding my shadow
as it ripples across brick buildings,
moon hanging over a soccer field,

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I call you to feel less alone—
tires churning soft gravel as I make a u-turn

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I can’t imagine a trip without the low point:
quaint town turning hostile before grinning its little smile back at me