this is the outcome

this is the outcome of first setting eyes on the Rocky Mountains,
of gazing back through the rear window of our 1968 Packard
while heading home, east to Chicago.
I never called it home except in name alone
333 South Highland Avenue, a place of mostly unhappiness,
a shell to hold books to keep me entertained, to live in another world.
and this poem, written a day later than planned, is the outcome of
the squirrely nature of internet connections on the second floor
of this old house,
this old house that is home in all ways,
where a poem starts to write itself and gets paused
for no real reason except for the above stated vagaries.
and so life traveling across the plains in a Packard wagon,
throwing up out the back window since I always got stuck
back there and so car sick,
I ended up here in the beautiful Rocky Mountains
where I belong.