alternate route

Last night, my husband and I
rearranged five overfilled bookcases to suit a
toddler in need of space for his good fortune.

For more than a moment, as we crammed
the final case into a guest room unsuitable for guests, I considered
getting rid of every last volume. Whatever insurance I thought
I had purchased against mediocrity has certainly lapsed by now.

During my near-daily pass through
the big-box sliding glass doors, greeted
by a well-meaning octogenarian,
I find acceptance of
this life--exactly the opposite
expected effect, I know.

Loading up the gotta-haves,
buckle-snap-buckle the boy into
his parental-reassurance
device, we make our way south.

the road-closed signs
sat in the ditch
long enough that I stopped
fearing their message, only to
discover, this afternoon, I couldn't
get home.

no detour provided, seek your
own path, and mine sent us
to down-and-out south topeka
blvd, past Sinsations, Some
Like it Hot, Baby Dolls, the Alibi
Grill, and a liquor store
with thick metal bars on the windows--
the owner wears
a .44 magnum in a shoulder holster
in case of a showdown.

finally home, twenty minutes and
a lights-flashing train-crossing later,
a deserted gravel road--no traffic
to kick up the dust.

nothing I can do
prevents what-if
from becoming what is,

time is my only currency.

the detour didn't upset
our afternoon--
each unexpected bit becomes
part of some secret burden
(or is it a gift?)
I choose, again and again,
to bear.