It was us
now me
slamming the door on an
old red car shut
on a black and
deep empty road.
White rain sheets
pound incessantly
swelling brown puddles
along the roadside.
I’ve placed
my things in a bag
and locked
them in the trunk.
I turn and face
the thrashing
trees and the
emptiness
and leave it
all behind.
Destination:
neon lights
