She left her glasses on the table
when she stormed out the house.
Alone in a café, her eyes blurred over
the menu, but she could smell
bacon frying. She treated herself
for the first time in years.

The world was still turning somehow,
as she tried to plot her escape.
She was alone with her thoughts
of country roads and strange men
that would make her forget his voice.
He'll be sleeping by now.

There was enough money in her purse
to take her out of the country.
From there she could waitress
by some sea-side resort, reading
books through siestas, and sleeping
with the mosquitoes.

Walking to the station, she ripped up
old bus tickets she used to save
to remind her of the everyday places
both of them had been.
Even now she was missing him,
as he laid out and stared at the ceiling.

She was stopped before she made it
to the airport. She was bundled in
the car, eyes swelling and lights flashing
as she was driven back to the city.
She was stripped, searched and
thrown into a locked room.

Her husband still lay there.
His eyes were shelled out
and trodden on by her heels.
There was a river of blood
in the ant's nest, and he would never
look at another woman again.