We were invited
to what was called
an “unusual meeting of the minds.”

The chatty hired driver caught our eye
in the rearview: letting us in
on a secret.
The conversation was one-sided.

His concern for our pleasure
not extending to getting out of the car,
we readied ourselves
for the rain the sky threatened
as we stood outside.

The driver doffed his hat in the rearview
and scudded the palm-lined blacktop.

We looked at each other
and then at the building.

Were we early?

Up and down the austere runway
were only more trees and
one family restaurant closed
hours ago.

Hopes for coffee dashed,
we walked the length
of the building, trying doors,
peering in windows, disappointed
how the darkening sky and
the unlit interior revealed
so little.

Were we brought to the right place?

Time passed and we considered
calling a cab, but neither of us
could find our phones.
This made me laugh; I was
the prepared one.

At length, the florescent sign
flickered, then turned off.
This sign of activity
hinted at a caretaker,
someone to answer our questions,
arrange another driver.

We began to talk
about the trip we’d had so far.
It looked like the seafaring portion
would never happen.

Then, your voice, out of
the pitch:
“A shame since we’re so close.”