so one night

joe decides 

we should drink

mushroom tea

after a grueling

night serving

pot roast and turkey

soup to strictly

sunday catholics.

upon drinking,

we melted

into the kitchen table.

some time passes.

i write a paragraph,

first line: "joey is

a slug on the floor,"

which was unrelated

to the rest of the

seemingly prolific 

text. i get to thinking

about prisons and

being stuck and i

considered an entire

lifetime of being stuck

here

or anywhere else

just stuck

so i say,
"joey. let's just leave."

he peeks up from

the tablet he's

scribbling into.

he's got that half

cocked smile

and without question

he says,

"okay." 

i yell to tom

upstairs who

swiftly appears,

coat on,

hat on,

he may have been wearing

gloves too.

he says,
"let's go. where're we going?"

and for a moment

i considered how easy

it was to actually

leave

to just stash some t-shirts

and socks

into a backpack

and leave,

wherever the night

discarded us 'til

dusk tomorrow.

i stood in my bedroom

and dressed myself

in what i thought i 

could wear for a few nights

in a cold car or roadside.

i thought

this is it,

this is every book we've

ever read, every uncounted

mile, every bitter cup

of coffee from here to 

sante fe, or wherever our

two feet or luck

got us,

but i paused briefly.

across the hallway

joe was stumbling

into long johns, listening as

tom beamed

conspiratorial historical

utterly incandescent

knowledge,

his full foxed smile easing

the blossomed mania.

joe catches my eye

and we both wear

the same scared and anxious

smile.

he says,
"are we really doing this?"

are we really not going

into work tomorrow?"

then we considered the car

and family, the rent,

the cat

and solemnly 

put our pajamas back on.

 

from time to time

i joke and say, "hey,

remember that one time

we almost left?"

and even if they knew

from the very start

we'd never cross

state lines,

i was already one foot

out the door.