I smoke and watch her

pack.

The taxi waits.

Then like a premonition

I have a mirrored memory

of her departure-

the scent of her 

washed skin-

recalling the

ins and outs of our arguments...

She's smiling as she 

leaves the echo of

our space.

She's laughing as we fail

to finish yet another argument...

I pick through the remains

of the accusations

that she broadcasts.

Then leaving,

sighing,

she drags behind her

-like wheeled luggage-

into a bin

the life that we once shared.

 

words and foto T Carroll