by Rachelle Rouse

Summer nights, being lonely
I heard the shoosh of the highway
Musty, buttery people
Staring with numb eyes
Out the windows of their sleek little grasshopper cars

I knew it was over between us
When your cousin moved in with you
When the heat sank into the ground after dark
And I knew I had to move on somehow
So I went to thrift stores after work

Fried hamburger bun leather
The stale, rotting cotton shredded cabbage
For months this was comfort food
But it was messy vinyl fare; the salt grains were visible
It all finally dissolved by September's rain
(I watched it go down the gutter across the street)

I was tired of making the trip in my sauna on wheels
I was tired of the pockets full of mold and sweat
I was tired of finding nothing worthwhile

In all
      that
            junk.