You look at me and smile
that glorious, mischievous smile
and say “We could just
run away.” It's Friday night, nearly
midnight. 3 days before rent is due.
You just got paid. The cars' in decent
shape. We could get three states away
before anybody would think to miss us.
We could load up the car: pack up
the cats, some clothes, a few important things
and leave the rest behind. It may be
a week before anybody thinks
to look for us, and by then
we would be somewhere else.
I say “We'd have to change our names,”
and the thought of it makes me smile. You
could dye your hair and I
could shave my head
and no one would recognize us. “We could
fake our own deaths,” I add, “and then we'd be free.”
We'd only tell the ones who matter most,
the ones who can keep a secret, of course
and we'd start over
with new lives
somewhere else
without the burden of having to remind ourselves
of who we are and what all the things are
that we're running from.
You shake your head, still smiling
because you think I carry the dream
a little too far. Then we conspire
on where to go and decide
it's time we went to bed.