when i wake up without my glasses sometimes
i think i'm still in a tent on the side of a highway in queensland
and the sun coming up starts a stopwatch
t-minus 20 minutes until the air heats up like an oven
merrily roasting the blonde figures
on either side of a slightly deflated air mattress.
if i keep my blurry vision fixed i can hear whip birds
and cackling kookaburras and
a vague buzzing i forget as soon as i shift my attention.
i want to push my too-tanned face through the moth-dotted
10-second-tent ***** and gasp wholly unsatisfying gulps
of petrol station breezes.
but when i wake up with my contacts cementing my eyelids shut
i think i'm hungover in a grimy hostel in brisbane
with a different blond figure gripping my hip
and 29 other filthy travelers snoring uproariously in the same room
and every one of them asleep with stories still pressed to their lips
willing to trade for the thrill of it.
and i know i won't be able to find my keycard in the tangled sheets
and anyway, my bunk in my own room doesn't have a ladder
and there's always a german girl sleeping below
with her underwear hanging from the bars i use to clamber up
so i sigh and pass that problem down to future-me
fall back asleep
and when i wake up i have miscalculated
and somehow i'm twelve thousand miles away already
as abrupt as this
but sometimes for a few myopic seconds, my chest feels light.