Diplomacy

in a parallel line we travel
over four thousand miles
westward
into the setting sun,
adventurous and bold,
bringing the values and instincts
we once believed
might be too old…

colliding cultures absorb
the differences,
survive and grow,
but all too often resist.

dark streets we walk,
back alleys and more,
searching for the smart ones,
the ritualistic ones,
the pathetic ones,
and the ones honored
with old age
and keen intelligence…

the artistic ones who
write and record
what no one admits,
the hawks and doves
sitting on the same
fence posts,
splitting decisions
like paper currency…

we grew dreamers,
it is shared,
those who shame reality
with their beliefs.

the rest of us
too old to think,
too young to care,
the majority wanting to
but unable to remember how.

we are left
mixed and blessed
or misunderstood,
hoping the cultures
divorce
like couples,
a new partner found,
nothing lost,
nothing rediscovered,

returning to the packed pockets
where no lint is found.