Lost

Lost.
I love that word,
so often pushed
upon the young and the single—
the wayward population of misfits
who don’t settle, or won’t.
But I’m anchored, happily,
to a house and family
in the uneventful suburbs
with navigable roads
and a grocery store in sight.
I already know
the story of tomorrow.
There’s no uncertainty
about the love I come home to,
no deficit of laughter or funds—
still, there’s the awkward nudge
to make lost my destination—
to escape inexplicably
into the night
to get there.

DeMaris Gaunt
10-29-14

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