Armchair Traveler

A friend told me she will be in Patagonia 

I shall tell her of my trip to the South Pole 

pulling a three hundred pound sled—

a solo trip in minus 40 degree temperature 

The cold bites my breath. While she beds down I

shall open my tent and dream

of a hot shower and clean sheets

Traveling through the pages of a book—

I’ve been down the Nile, crossed deserts,

roamed through caves, listened to 

the roar of oceans, climbed the highest peaks, 

even collected rare orchids  in a primal swamp

Instead of a stamped passport I write

the name of where I’ve been in a lined journal