Facebook Guide For The Armchair Traveler Poem by James P. Roberts

Ron is in Alaska on a cruise, he posts
photos of whales breaching the gray waves,
pine-covered and snow-capped mountains,
himself holding up a less-than-taleworthy fish.

Theodora is in Budapest, the setting
of her latest fantasy novel, more historical
in scope this time.Hungary is her birthright,
the colonnaded museum she stands before, a ghost.

Adam has gone to Vietnam.He does not
neglect the truth of sad, poverty-stricken faces
posed next to elaborate shrines.Crowded
market bazaars, feet submerged in rice paddies.

Sorrel now resides in Ireland, a peregrine
fairy woman, a Gaia seeking her own roots
in other cultures. Her harp sings its lovely totem
while castle ruins are kept by white sheep.

Russell braves South Sea island hurricanes,
sends glimpses of exotic Bali, Ponape, Tahiti.
What he doesn't show is the heat, nights
of sleepless sweat, bugs crawling on the walls.

This is the season for travel, one last fling
before the crash.I share, but do not envy
their stolen time.The beast has risen
and is slouching on its tired, fatal paws.