When she broke the pan, I was leaving.
It must have turned out that the seagulls
on the street had it figured out ahead of time
because they followed my sedan
from the driveway to the meat-market,
and back to the driveway, where I
tried to think of what to say to the kids;
her shadow hanging in the kitchen
window like a pendulum, swinging
there, in the window, so full of shadow.
I never went back inside, that time.
I drove back to the driveway, and never
got out of the humming car. Dark creeping
over the dull city like a tumor.
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