your only man

I usually leave you shortly before twilight,

when in the summertime you can still see the sky gleaming out of the trees

and few cars from the main road mark their passage with swift humming

that break the rhythm of the wind.

Rain has declared her unilateral ceasefire today. You stare at me perplexed, not sure

what it is going to happen next.

I kiss you gently and keep my tears, as I do when I leave,

for the first or the second gear, when my rent car already has disappeared from the house view.

Couple of bends and I’m off onto the main road, put my glasses back on, tune the car radio

on the station I know you’re listening to in the kitchen;

that’s generally the moment when I start speeding up to reach one of my other lives.

Few more bends and I don’t see anything anymore: no gleaming sky, no trees,

no petrol stations, churches or pubs to say goodbye to.

I just keep my eyes on the road, my heart unbeating, for as much as possible.