Poetry While Lost

A poem, written while utterly lost, by Jill Piacitelli. This work of art was accompanied by a sketch by Galen Dickstein, the other lost participant.

Poetry to the Lost and Directionless
It all begins with such little mishaps
Forgotten water, broken bike chains, or a brief judgmental lapse
Suddenly now you are just a bit behind
Wondering if you will be found or will find
The group which is your umbilical cord
(Except for during lunch � conversation gets us bored)
Your lifeline, your crutch, your everything
The group which you�d stand in front of 1,000 to sing.
Anyway, such was the experience of Galen and I
On the second of June, not the second of July.
Two minutes into our ride to the morning project site
Galen�s chain just slipped off, to her non-delight.
So she pulled over and Jill followed after
And both engaged in a short burst of resigned laughter.
Then shouting ahead for the group to go on
They walked the bike back to Mr. Hoang.
A quick exchange for a sweet blue beauty
(That rides a little high and makes a sore booty)
And off they were again to catch the group,
Riding the Lei Loi, a familiar street loop.
But then, once passed the familiar street kids house
There was no JSC sighting, not even a mouse.
So we pulled out the brilliant yellow itinerary
(Some may mistake it for a flattened bright canary.)
And began our quest, by asking for directions
From the slew of drivers, pedestrians, and men who give inspections
If you had a tag or a uniform on
We�d show you the address, you�d point, we�d say �cam on�
This was the way
We covered all of Hue.
We found out indeed, that Vietnam has mountains
And that Galen and I both contain inner sweat fountains.
Back and forth, right and left
We did it until we felt completely bereft.
We went back to Le Loi and hired one of the first asked drivers
To guide us straight to Thuy Xan as bedraggled survivors.
And thus began our Tour de France training-
The way we were sweating, people thought it was raining.
He, ahead, on his fast moto scooter
Was going with such speed, he seemed a fleeing looter
We pedaled furiously up Mt. Hue
Looking sometimes to see if the other was okay
Taking a very (20 minutes off course) wrong turn
Made our hearts (and Galen�s neck) with vengeance begin to burn.
But at last, here we were, one last huge hill
I slapped my own face wondering it if was real.
We paid the driver and said a French farewell
And then dragged our bikes through this last step of heck.
The group would be cheering! Rejoicing our arrival!
No doubt that most, nay many, had doubted our survival!
But the further up the hill, and closer to the place
The quieter it got, the sparser the human face.
And then we saw the schoolyard, desolate as any�
Where there were few, there should have been many.
Greeted only by a beautiful vista and a danger sign
We were finally lost, but found, at half past nine.
So here we sit, no voices stirring, to capture the scene
And shortly ride back home�what adventure this has been.