1990

Man driving a manual-powered time machine
through Copenhagen, on his way to 1990. That was the year
he had the option of working on a farm in Spain, or staying home
and hoping to fall in love. Spain was the safe option;
waiting was questionable.

I don’t know which option he chose, but now
he’s pedaling his time machine around
looking for that summer again. Does he want to go back
because it was too wonderful to live only once? Or
does he wish he had been either safer or more daring?

Did he marry the Danish girl
he was waiting for? Is that why
he’s still here?

In 1990 I was elsewhere. Either being
brought to life or preparing to be.  But
this is the year (2012)
I thought about working in Spain.
I just thought it was too safe, so
I decided to go home instead, where the dream
ending was not as certain, but several times more excellent.

Maybe I should take the man’s phone number
down, in case I made the wrong decision. Maybe
I should travel back to Spain with him
and cut the grass that was so green in 1990
and speak that beautiful language
and keep my dreams to myself.

But what is all of Spain compared to love?