Charles Harper Webb

Retreat

Before she can deliver
the cruncher,
I stride away backwards

My car door opens,
I fall in
as the engine fires.

I speed home in reverse,
unshave, unshower,
plop down in my easy chair

where, picturing what a good
night it’s going to be,
I slowly spit up

a manhattan – dry –
just the way
I like it.

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