I drove by that fish head mailbox for the fifth time
while my legs stuck to the leather seat in my car.
My windows were up because if you were outside,
I was afraid I’d hear your voice and feel afraid.
I was sweating like a guilty woman, and my heart,
my heart was racing faster than I was driving away.
This was a bad choice, coming to this city,
expecting to see you and hoping I wouldn’t.
We parted on the worst of terms because
you couldn’t stand to see me stand on my own.
I’ve got two hands on the steering wheel
and no plans of remembering your face.