Did you wait for that strange evening
to swallow hard
to snap at you like the rabid dog
from your childhood
that lived across the tracks
and ran wild
through the streets
of your small town?
A station wagon pulls in
and sits there, idling.
The clock ticks past reason.
The luggage and kitchen island
stare back at you
like the sound stage of your dreams
then tip the attendant
and leave without saying goodbye.
