I Think It Was Twice
We’ve used them before.
The young removal
assistant jammed the rear door’s long rod lock
like he was loading a
bolt action Enfield rifle
He slapped the side of
the van, I think it was twice
that quivered, as a
signal to the driver that the last boxes were loaded
The van’s black exhaust
fumes rolled along the white gravel
like black teethed smog
She opened her car
door, put the kids in the back, threw a few bags
on the passenger seat
and followed the removal van out of the courtyard
She never once said
goodbye, or looked back at the house that once was ours
My life changed from
that last moment
Like being left alone
in a hospital bed when the visitors have all left
We’ll never use them
again
Leaving Northcott Farm
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