passin thru

 
      she loved me as if…
      as if she knew.
      don’t get comfortable
      i’m just passin thru.
 
the truck I hitched in dropped me off at a crossroads. he was  
turning east, I was south-bound. late afternoon. I didn’t expect  
any traffic on that lonely road, so I grabbed my duffle & walked
to the nearest house, washed out white. kind of a sad white, if
you can picture that.
 
she was an older woman, couple gray hairs. a few lines that said
living is hard. hell, tell me somethin I don’t know. she opened the  
door wide, said take your boots off, I don’t want my floor muddy.
 
usually they just toss you a chunk of bread, maybe a mountain dew,
and say be on your way. she took me to the kitchen, put some cold  
chicken pieces & potato salad on a plate. I tried to eat politely, tugging  
the leash on my barking hunger.
 
she had an old mattress on the back porch where I could sleep for the
night. I lay there for awhile, wondering who all those stars up there  
were twinkling for. someone far away from here.
 
then she came out. we stared at each other for maybe two minutes. it  
could have been a lifetime. she slipped under the sheet with me. I
touched the stinging warmth of her skin. she held me hard, not lady-like.
her mouth was an oasis, outlined in pale need. her tongue said tangle
with me.
 
we made a desperate love, the kind that…you know…really hurts.
 
I held her after, & I would have held her all night, but she nudged away,  
went back inside. then it was the quiet, & me, & those condemning stars.
 
at dawn she fried eggs, some hash browns. I ate & put my dishes in the
sink. I said thank you, & she said nothing. she just looked at me with a kind
of a f*ck you look on her face.  or maybe I misread it.
I shouldered my duffle, & headed back to the road.
 
        and she loved me
        and wept, ‘cause she knew
        don’t get comfortable
        i’m just passin thru