A Louer

An empty room, strewn with

boxes: some taped gaping shut, some

cut back open like old wounds,

doomed to never fully heal.

Every new home a new heartbreak;

Forever running in place, uphill.

"Go to the store", she says,

handing me her wallet.

I know I won't need it.

Joël never makes Mom pay.

Kids chase the shop dog, Yuki, down the alleyway

longing for his undeserved acceptance.

"Mademoiselle" Joël greets me,

nodding his dread-locked head in respect.

Obligation and formality, too, but...

"Pack of Benson & Hedges Gold please" I say casually.

"Quitting is 'arder than it looks, ehn? I warned you."

replies Joël with an arguably harmless wink.

Sometimes I wonder how much he really knows, and how.

Taking the long way home to play a game of chase with Yuki

unwittingly stokes the fire under Mom's simmering tongue.

Vengeance is a dish best served under your breath.

We eat Tom Yum off unpacked boxes and watch Jarmusch movies.

Xanax for her, chamomile for me, "to make you dream slower".

Yesterday becomes us; and tomorrow offers up another

Zeus in earthen form, back to save us from ourselves and run.