Quit the K-Mart she’d worked at since high school
Stopped on the way home
To break up
With the only boy
She’d ever kissed
Pulled a suitcase
From the top shelf
Of the hall closet
Where it’d sat since the field trip
To Savannah in the seventh grade
Stuffed blue jeans
And tee shirts and tennis shoes
A few photographs
And the dress she’d worn On New Years Eve
Into the trunk of her 89 Toyota
Rushed onto the interstate
Ripped off the rear-view mirror
Determined to make
The state line
Before sun-up.
