Long before the train huffs into the station, before<\/p>\n
the windows swim with gray pecks of birds and blue<\/span><\/p>\n smoke from the end of dying cigarettes, I wonder<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n what I might say to keep the music going or even if<\/span><\/p>\n it\u2019s worth the effort to shake the tree and make<\/span><\/p>\n a final apple fall between the two of us, a last resort<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n to gather the dry stems of something once crisp <\/span><\/p>\n and young and weave them into – what? –<\/span><\/p>\n a basket or a backstop or any damn thing. Or maybe<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n just call a last hurrah, have a drink and be done<\/span><\/p>\n with it, a cod standing on its last legs like a dog<\/span><\/p>\n that hasn\u2019t been fed a decent meal in over<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n a month, now riddled with fleas, fur matted with<\/span><\/p>\n burrs, mud, unanswered texts and calls, drinking<\/span><\/p>\n from puddles muddy with hope. Spit on it.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nice guys finish last and nice girls just sit <\/span><\/p>\n beside the phone until it rings. An old story.<\/span><\/p>\n I think about the sequence of events, hear<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n the names of the stations called as I near<\/span><\/p>\n the last one, the last laugh, where I may (or may<\/span><\/p>\n not) make one last ditch effort to entrance you<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n forever, to fill you in on every last detail of what<\/span><\/p>\n is wrong with my life without you, of what a stupid<\/span><\/p>\n shit you are for moving to this god forsaken<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n twin bed without even an extra pillow. I stand<\/span><\/p>\n on the shivering floor, reach up to extract one<\/span><\/p>\n small carry on, keep my feet in the lurch<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n and last gasp of the train and the cry<\/span><\/p>\n of the conductor as he hawks out the name<\/span><\/p>\n of the final station and I step cautiously<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n along behind the row of other numbed<\/span><\/p>\n travelers, my brain primed at the last minute <\/span><\/p>\n to bark, to shriek, to wail.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Published in:<\/p>\n Off the Coast, Summer 2015<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Long before the train huffs into the station, before the windows swim with gray pecks of birds and blue smoke from the end of dying cigarettes, I wonder what I might say to keep the music going or even if it\u2019s worth the effort to shake the tree and make a final apple fall … <\/p>\n