Getting from here
to there is full
of gnarly turns, jammed
traffic--
the simplest transaction
requires a specialized
degree and even then,
what you learned
in college changes
before you get
your first job;
ordering a hamburger
has become a work
of art, and don't
even try to order coffee
unless you speak three
languages.
Somewhere in me
remembers a simple life
where walking was
joyous and buying
a gallon of milk and
a loaf of bread did not
take the major part
of a morning.
Something in me even
remembers the fragrance
of bread baking
in my very own kitchen
and the remembering
makes me feel old,
reminds me of how far
I have traveled along
the great myth of progress.