Ticket in hand
For far away land
Rolling our bags
With everything packed
Rush to the gate
Hope we’re not late
Board single file
You take the aisle
I’ll take the middle seat
Wander the streets
Strange foods we eat
Capture the sights
On small black device
You pick the place
I’ll navigate
At our own pace
No need to race
We’ll get there eventually
At journey’s end
Postcards all sent
Back to the grind
Of everyday life
Anyone’s guess
Where we’ll go next
Flower and a bow
You in the window
Me in the middle seat