And in a box of papers, I came across this:
Someday, I figure, I’ll travel the world —
Guitar on my back, shoelace wrapped ’round my wrist,
And figure out if we can ever escape
This microcosm of rhetorical answers.
But for now, I’ll hoist my backpack,
Hug my parents, take 50 to 66 to 123
And dive back into the world
Where people know my name.
And continue wondering if Pilate
Was just really unlucky.