Day 3 and Regional

for TOP April 4, 2008

It's Saturday and I'm sitting in Border's in Portland, Maine waiting for my mother-in-law's flight to come in. I have a very low connection. Borders is a T-Mobile hot spot but I don't have an account so I'm hoping I can get this posted without losing my signal.

I wrote this poem on Thursday afternoon waiting for my mom's flight to arrive in Portsmouth, NH. She flew in for a funeral. This morning she was scheduled to fly back to Florida but we woke up to the news that Skybus had ceased operations. Luckily, I was able to get her a flight out of Manchester, NH. I dropped her off and now am in waiting mode.

Okay, enough chit chat. Here's my poem.
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Mt. Washington sits
like a gallon of milk
on a blue tablecloth

as I head south
this Thursday morning
playing hooky from school.

At Wildcat Mountain
the skiers are confetti
as they weave

down the white frosting.
The whole valley
spreads out before me

as I swerve around
Dead Man’s Curve
in Pinkham Notch.

I’m singing
“Cover of a Rolling Stone”
by Dr. Hook as loud

as I can. See the notes
flying out my cracked-
open window, landing

on the snow
and perching on the limbs
of the bare trees?