I Pick You Up at the Airport
poem by Sara Dueck
You pop out at holidays, my birthday,
In August stepping down to the tarmac. My air conditioning broke last month and
Beads of wax run down
Your face. Thirsty
Trees line up. You look out the back windows.
I told you
You could have sat shotgun.
The spider is in her cage, in your hands, the lid bounces.
They’re cleaning the streets, I say
They’re laying gravel out so we won’t skid. You laugh and I hear wind
Over empty bottles.
Earlier I said
I don’t want your god damned tarantula in my car.
What I actually said is I can see your face
When you’re gone. I see your fingers twitching.