Issue Twenty-One - Winter 2013

The End of Things

By Robert Joe Stout

So tired she
can barely pull
her suitcase
down the airport

ramp she curses,
says I always
screw up easy
tasks. I nod,

refuse the argument
she wants, load
her luggage
in the van, focus

on the highway
ramp. “I’m through,”
she says, “I’ve had
enough.” I nod.

“I need to get you
home,” I say not
knowing what I really
mean, tears

hidden somewhere
deep inside. The road
a blur, I cough
to clear my sight.

Copyright Stout 2012

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