cups and exits

The signal clicker beats a steady line

My hand knows where to rest at half-past nine

Passed the exit ramp at forty-two

Just like I used to do

There's a red wrapper in the plastic tray

Blueberry and dark cacao,

the usual way

Still sealed and cold from the glass-door case

Right in its familiar place (hmm-mmm)

Oh, the drive home

My hands still turn the wheel

alone

The body moves before the mind can say

We are going a different way One block away,

the traffic light turns red

I look up at the second floor instead

Your window is a yellow square of light

Cutting through the Friday night

Green light flashes, but the foot goes down Past the brick facade

and out of town

My fingers do not reach to make the call No sudden brakes,

no stop at all

Oh, the drive home (mmm)

Letting go of what we've known