how long this time
there’s nothing complicated about it she says
but I disagree without saying a word
stuffing whatever personal belongings
I can find into my weatherworn backpack
a lone violin begins playing on the radio
and suddenly I am transported to another day
she continues to talk above the music
most likely of money and promises and roses
but all I can hear is the violin lifting my spirits
she rises off of the bed and reaches for the radio
asking how long I’ll be gone this time
knowing full well the answer is probably forever
february two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
