Compass
Mark Lipowicz
The road to where I thought we were going
climbs a hillside where I expected a valley
and ends abruptly in a tee.
Same wrong turn, missed signal,
as the last time I tried to get us there.
I turn the car around, head back to the airport,
the only place I’m sure of north and south.
When I smile and say we’ve been lost here before,
as if it’s a shared experience we want to remember,
you agree.
I could ask you to drive, but I never do,
do I?