Poetry While Lost

Poetry to the Lost and Directionless

It all begins with such little mishaps

Forgotten water, broken bike chains, or a brief judgmental lapse

Suddenly now you are just a bit behind

Wondering if you will be found or will find

The group which is your umbilical cord

(Except for during lunch – conversation gets us bored)

Your lifeline, your crutch, your everything

The group which you’d stand in front of 1,000 to sing.

Anyway, such was the experience of Galen and I

On the second of June, not the second of July.

Two minutes into our ride to the morning project site

Galen’s chain just slipped off, to her non-delight.

So she pulled over and Jill followed after

And both engaged in a short burst of resigned laughter.

Then shouting ahead for the group to go on

They walked the bike back to Mr. Hoang.

A quick exchange for a sweet blue beauty

(That rides a little high and makes a sore booty)

And off they were again to catch the group,

Riding the Lei Loi, a familiar street loop.

But then, once passed the familiar street kids house

There was no JSC sighting, not even a mouse.

So we pulled out the brilliant yellow itinerary

(Some may mistake it for a flattened bright canary.)

And began our quest, by asking for directions

From the slew of drivers, pedestrians, and men who give inspections

If you had a tag or a uniform on

We’d show you the address, you’d point, we’d say “cam on”

This was the way

We covered all of Hue.

We found out indeed, that Vietnam has mountains

And that Galen and I both contain inner sweat fountains.

Back and forth, right and left

We did it until we felt completely bereft.

We went back to Le Loi and hired one of the first asked drivers

To guide us straight to Thuy Xan as bedraggled survivors.

And thus began our Tour de France training-

The way we were sweating, people thought it was raining.

He, ahead, on his fast moto scooter

Was going with such speed, he seemed a fleeing looter

We pedaled furiously up Mt. Hue

Looking sometimes to see if the other was okay

Taking a very (20 minutes off course) wrong turn

Made our hearts (and Galen’s neck) with vengeance begin to burn.

But at last, here we were, one last huge hill

I slapped my own face wondering it if was real.

We paid the driver and said a French farewell

And then dragged our bikes through this last step of heck.

The group would be cheering! Rejoicing our arrival!

No doubt that most, nay many, had doubted our survival!

But the further up the hill, and closer to the place

The quieter it got, the sparser the human face.

And then we saw the schoolyard, desolate as any—

Where there were few, there should have been many.

Greeted only by a beautiful vista and a danger sign

We were finally lost, but found, at half past nine.

So here we sit, no voices stirring, to capture the scene

And shortly ride back home—what adventure this has been.