Mark Lipowicz

The road to where I thought we were going
climbs a hillside where I expected a valley
and ends abruptly in a tee.

Same wrong turn, missed signal,
as the last time I tried to get us there.

I turn the car around, head back to the airport,
the only place I’m sure of north and south.

When I smile and say we’ve been lost here before,
as if it’s a shared experience we want to remember,
you agree.

I could ask you to drive, but I never do,
do I?