her parting words hang heavy
in the air as your car door
slams shut. through its open window
you watch as she strides
up a gravel path to her front porch
lit by two yellow bulbs buzzing
with a cloud of moths and mosquitoes.
she fishes a key from her purse
and without a pause or glance
back in your direction unlocks
the door and slips inside
her darkened home. behind
drawn curtains the muted glow
of a lamp greets the night
and from memory you picture
those slow barefooted steps
towards a back bedroom
as her dress slides
off silken shoulders
and comes to rest
on the cold
wooden floor.
