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

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