north, maybe

I wanted to be the rain today— falling, swallowed, never still.

I wanted to ditch all my responsibilities and silly concerns, to trade in my phone bill and flat tire for a battered copy of Walden and a stack of playing cards. I’d want a leather-bound journal too, one that wouldn’t get beaten by the weather. I’d go somewhere north, maybe. I hear it’s dreadful this time of year. I’d read Kerouac and Ginsberg, but this time I’d really understand. I wouldn’t be gone forever, just until all of this blows over. I’ll pack light, anyway.