The driveway
not plowed
was scarred
with fresh tire marks
From the eaves
icicles hung
long as a man’s leg
askew
as if broken
blown sideways
by the warming breeze
They clung
awkwardly
against the first thaw
of the new season
He parked away from the house
He walked carefully
keeping his distance
and his eyes
on the spires
He ducked
to the front door
now safe
under the porch
Inside
assaulted by warmth
and change
his glasses fogged over
Blind
liberating a shirt tail
he smelled the second wave –
fingers of musk
of lust
of alien masculinity
closed into a fist
punched him
unexpectedly
through the backdrop
of familiarity
Smells of… not him…
All was clear now
condensation wiped away
his wife sitting
at the table
silent
two cups before her
empty
echoes of a back door
resounding still
There was snow on his shoes
He hadn’t dropped his suitcase
Her eyes were red
Her hair was loose
“It happened once… just once…”
she pled
Snow melted on the kitchen floor
He didn't drop his suitcase
Between visions
of smashed limbs
shattered jaws
splintered frames
he focused on her
just her
I never strayed…
She sat
silent
The front door closed
quietly
Water seeped into the grout
defeated
in slow retreat
When he stepped outside
there was no fog
the wind hadn’t shifted
the icicles still hung
Yet
as he walked
back to the car
snow repacking his soles
he slapped the icy spikes
oblivious
letting them fall
beside him
driven into the hardening banks
upright
like bars
askew
he outside
she within
maybe looking through
the window
maybe not
as he left
again
his tracks
the last
