Post Road Magazine #26

Going to Caldwell

Katrin Tschirgi

With a first line from "Wheel of Fortune" by Richard Hugo

One way of going is to bang the door the last time out of the house
after you pull the clothes out of your closet like
twinkle lights from a January Christmas tree,
speed down I-84 while your mom cries against the banister thinking
you need lithium. Gentleman's club marquee light bulbs
chain the sky—enjoy the carnival getaway. Say, it's ok.
You will buy her a latte in the morning and
apologize for stealing the new car. Pass
the hole-in-the-wall serving Dutch babies at 2am,
the road construction with its permanent pill-bottle orange
get-up, the feedlot, the sugar beet plant, until
you reach Farm City. The air will be sweet as cow dung:
this is where they grow apples. Rent a studio
on Third and Deerborn, but know one block down someone
coming out of the grocery store with brown bags and heavy
cantaloupe was stabbed in the parking lot. Picture yourself,
a rolling fruit.


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