First, where is this where? I've come to beware
a short cut unsticking me from a rut 
my mind could traverse. And then what is worse: 
Who makes up this we? I guess I can see 
it meets me halfway, which is just to say 
that I'm meeting it, a bad new habit.
Where I'll start, then, is with paper and pen. 
(Let’s not pretend I won’t see you again.)

_{Written in community with VerseLove, a group of mostly educators writing a poem every day of April (National Poetry Month). The prompt for today: Write a poem about an interaction.}