World Traveler
Courtney Lee

A young man
spins a yo-yo
around the world
in the middle
of his apartment
where past issues
of travel magazines
lie sprawled open
across the carpet
circling his feet—
one step
and he crosses
oceans.

At twelve dollars
and ninety-nine cents,
the boy flies
his shiny toy
on a round-trip ticket
to the seven wonders
of the world, his hand
soaring over seas
of glossy pictures
of cruise lines, safaris, and
all-included beach resorts—
no more real
than his wildest imaginations.

Around and
around, his
fingers wind string
between the gaps
of plastic,
of manmade
tectonic plates,
filling the cracks
of the earth
with enough energy
to unroll globes,
to propel him
into the stars.