Like the land, I relax as we cross the great river
and it flattens out for the eclipse.

I’m talking like you’re in the passenger’s seat
describing embarrassing childhood memories
as I motor past my youth,

the muddy creek in summer,
the Quaker meeting house at Easter,
the roller-skating rink every time.

You just had to be there, I laugh,
which is why I’m driving,
aiming for the right place
at the right time.

I spy two ducks swimming
just above a waterfall,
waiting for food to come to them
but they have to keep running
just to stand still.

I don’t mind traveling alone
since I carry you
in my back pocket.

“Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard.”

Obviously, I don’t follow instructions well.