Peninsular

there’s a blockade on this border
I was born on the wrong side of
a painful peninsular paradise
that fits me like a fingerless glove
I can’t wear them when it’s cold
can’t hold your hand so tight
I can’t read your language
when you’re standing in the light
an ordinary observation
would say that I’m obscene
for all I have are thoughts of you
and thoughtless when I’m through
but nothing else was covered
in my lessons on foreign nations
they pulled up the tracks when I was born
but I’m still waiting at the station
and the one in my hometown
was turned into a pub
that just keeps closing
I can always stand outside
doing my best impression
(of patiently waiting)
when I’m missing my lover
I do my best
at learning
to be
more
loving

~ ~ ~

March 11, 2026
Harbourville, Nova Scotia

Year 19, Day 6695 of my daily journal.