EARLY TROUBLE

In his window periphery

the great red eye

of morning’s horizon

watches         he thinks of her

alone

in the emptied house

looking for him

room to room

calling out his name

her voice

escalating from wonder

to fear, answered only

by sickened silence:

he is ten

now twenty miles

away, this growing

distance a strange

freedom he calls

hate or distrust:

the mileage

adding up

to nothingness:

each marker

a past regret:

the road itself his own

undetermined death

Copyright © 2007

Jeffrey S. Callico