A mighty Thunder and then a quiet time
With comfortable friends and a beach and some wood and some strings
and then fond farewells and just one more show
and then journey north, with a brief gaze to the west
where last I glanced at sun-gold Spires.

Then East I turned, retracing steps
to a Landing Ship Tank, now peacefully hired
to shorten a drive, to take me across
to New England and trees and the clips and the waves

But first a night's sleep, after watching the Sound
and the Great Black-backed Gulls and a Cormorant too
till tomorrow a breakfast and then to the boat,
for a one-hour journey across that big moat

A little rain the next day, nothing major I'm sure
just a couple of errands in Greenport and Southport,
pleasant towns with some smiles and the rain beating harder -
better head for that boat

“Reservation for Twelve?” the friendly man asked, “or for one or for 2?”
No? Then take this here paper and go to that place 
What was I thinking? I’d been here before,
but that was a weekday, what day is it now?
It's Friday, and what do they do on that day?
They head for New England, all of them do!

No boat til 3:30 and maybe not then!
Pull out of the line and park by the road,
with rain pouring now and no place to go.
Back to NY? All of that way, and then all that way back?
Unthinkable! No!
Yet what else could l do?

Frantically flailing the maps and the phone
I found the Port Jeff boat and hope for escape!
But what was the number? What was the name?
of the boat or the ferry or whatever it was
that could serve as my rescue and take me across

Information wants info from me who knows not
where to go or with whom, or what info I sought
Still they found me a number and connected me quick
then robots instructed me which number to pick
but my efforts to do so were thwarted by tech
and the dew and confusion that reigned (quite literally)

I stabbed and I prodded but the robot was dumb -
it bid me goodbye, the number was lost,
by the flip of a thumb
and the drop of a stick

Starting over, this time all prepared and rehearsed
the drill was repeated and no more I cursed
for finally, with luck I'd be northward bound
l'd be on a boat, across that big Sound

“Only an hour” the friendly girl said,
ail anxious to please 
“to Port Jeff from Orient - you'll make it with ease.” 
But don't linger or dally” the friendly girl warned,
“or you'll lose your deposit
and stay on the shore.”

Through puddles and downpour and back roads I drove
til big Interstate signs beckoned me try in my rumbling wet coach,
a four-laned and smoother yet longer approach.

“How far can it be” I reasoned and thought, 
“to bypass these puddles and ditches all holding me back?”
“A brilliant decision!” I feted myself,
“I’ll be there much sooner, I'm on the right track.”

Much wider the island, it grew in the rain
much further the Interstate now in my brain
but finally the “On ramp” appeared to my right
and l zoomed to the West all filled with delight

Til the taillights appeared and I knew I was doomed
not a vehicle stirring, not an exit around
l was trapped. I was penned. My plans all in ruin,
The second hand swept all the minutes away
I'd still be on Long Island at the end of the day

But still there was hope, a way out appeared, and off to the backwoods and puddles I drove not knowing which way or what angle to take, just head to the North or the West and stubbornly make my way to Port Jeff - the route I would fake.

“Road Closed” decided the way several times
and sent me back East, the way I had come
and the second hand swept still more minutes away

But doggedly, slowly through torrential rain
I tacked and I backed and 1 zigged and I zagged
til Port Jefferson signs appeared up ahead
and the miles and the minutes descended together
in a race to determine my place for tonight.

With a cookie or two from the wonderful pack
I rested in line, in my place in the queue
two minutes to spare, the race had been won
for the moment at least, my ordeal was done.