I Pick You Up at the Airport

poem by Sara Dueck

You pop out at holidays, my birthday,

In August stepping down to the tarmac.  My air conditioning broke last month and

Beads of wax run down

Your face.  Thirsty

Trees line up.  You look out the back windows.

I told you

You could have sat shotgun.

The spider is in her cage, in your hands, the lid bounces.

They’re cleaning the streets, I say

They’re laying gravel out so we won’t skid.  You laugh and I hear wind

Over empty bottles.

Earlier I said

I don’t want your god damned tarantula in my car.

What I actually said is I can see your face

When you’re gone.  I see your fingers twitching.