Mar 21, 2006 20:48
He smells like sulfur.
Rust and decay.
Burning gasoline.
He provokes me.
(It will be early in the morning
When we arrive. May I take your bags?
They will ask me. Absolutely.)
He will learn to regret this.
When his children are gone.
I'll take them nearly across the state.
(We will stay with my sister in
Iowa. We will go about our business.
He will learn to cry without tears.)
In his car.
Oh yes.
He will miss me.