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Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes.
- Neil Gaiman

Twas the Night Before the Tour

Twas the night before the tour, when through the apartment
Kari Winters was stirring, wondering what to represent.
The luggage was set by the front door with care,
In hopes that the tour van soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in my bed,
They knew I was leaving soon, choosing my bed instead.
And I in my PJs, and Jonah in his shirt,
Had revved up our brains for a how-to-blog spurt.

When outside my door there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Slid open the curtains and threw up the sash.

The moon on the water of English Bay.
Made me start to wonder about the following day.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a homeless couple, and a twelve-pack of beer.

With their own little party, so lively and loud,
I knew in a moment, they would draw a crowd.
More rapid than eagles, my husband he came.
And he whistled, and waved, and called them by name!

“Now Hayley! Now, Adam! Come away from the door!
You know that they’ll hear you on the pent-house floor!
To the end of the drive! To the end of the street!
Now quiet down. Quiet down! And try to be neat.”

As things always happen before the airplane would fly,
We meet with a new obstacle—Oh me, oh my!
So back to my lap-top, Jonah and I flew,
Why wasn’t it working? My computer? Askew?

And now you know why I couldn’t blog any further tonight….

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