I travel with anxiety. I go,
I revel in sensation and aspect,
but I’m away from home, my stuff – I grow
impatient for my comforts. I’m half-wrecked,
off-base but fascinated with the scene.
I watch a culture, learn a tendency
outside my own. The stimulation’s keen –
immersion in new anthropology.

And lately, though the distance isn’t far,
I twice a week live elsewhere than my place.
I cross the bay to where some offspring are,
and witness them in awkwardness and grace.
I love the exercise, but I confess
it makes a mood resembling travel stress.