En route

We only have this life, the one on the road

To somewhere, we picked this one,

Although there were many, some as tempting, 

Some only a passing fancy that did not last,

This one was the one I chose, we chose, 

Driving three days past the  XYXZ exit

(Where last time it was 120 F, and now we

Have passed sand and stone hills dusted in snow.

We only have this life and I chose this moment

To write his poem, bypassing a few more paragraphs 

In my book, leaving Opa to watch the washing 

Machine turn with Mira.

This is what I chose, right now.