STATE LINES
The concept of remaining connected all the time once sounded so hopeful and exciting, but Zubair Ahmed’s “Would You Call This Vacation” suggests where wireless technology has led us. The poem explores, with humor and surreal grace, the act of unplugging. The speaker has driven aimlessly from his urban lifestyle into a small, rural town, where the tangible things of the world — groceries, gas, a vast dry land — reconnect him with reality. Ahmed expresses renewed love for the world’s nameless, unmapped places. They offer him relaxation, of course, but also the chance to revive his imagination.
Would You Call This Vacation
In an old hotel At the end of a dirt road Surrounded by farmland I lie in bed Relaxed, alone. Small town run by Mud faced folks. They leave me be Without questions When I buy groceries Fill up gas Stare over the vast dry land. I didn’t plan to be here. Just happened one morning When I emailed my boss “On vacation.” I drove without a map. In this room I’m companion to the ceiling fan And its one song. Round and round. Beautiful, No complications. Back in my city, the clocks Live and the people die. Words are spoken from Ash and spiny backbones. Plans are scheduled. And the trains arrive on wheels Of sand. “Would You Call This Vacation” appears with the permission of the author. All rights reserved. Zubair Ahmed is a Bengali poet who immigrated to the U.S. in 2005. He is the author of “Ashulia,” a chapbook from Tavern Books, and “City of Rivers,” a collection in the McSweeney’s Poetry Series. He lives in Oakland.