(Poem 259 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

My husband is in the air
as I write this. His body is
literally catapulting through
the sky at over 500 miles per
hour and we are all supposed
to act like that is a perfectly
normal thing for a human to
do on a random Sunday night.
I guess it is actually a Monday
afternoon in Japan because
he’s going so fast he’s skipping
most of a day into the future.
Is anything real on this strange
sphere we call home that spins
at 1,000 miles per hour while
circling the sun at 67,000 miles
per hour in our solar system
that is zipping 450,000 miles
per hour around the Milky Way?

@Home Studio – 259^th poem of the year