And Not Before

We will go when I am ready
and not before. We will go south
or west, or east or north,
or wherever my thumb stabs
on the map tucked in the front pocket
of the jacket you haven’t worn for a while now.
And you will see the world as I do,
without your rainbows bouncing off
the walls of the waterfalls;
you will see the leaves in the gutters
and be sprayed by passing cars
when it hasn’t rained for months.
You will leave your office shoes by the door
and wrinkle your nose at country air
fouler than the city.
I will laugh and turn the car
and bring you home.
But mark, when that day comes,
I will not stall the engine
or traipse muddy boots back into the house.
We will go when I am ready
and not before. You will return
when you see fit, and I
will have moved along alone.