She left him.
her small car down the highway,
while she pictured his face
contorted with rage
and remembered his words,
angry, as she backed
through the door.
The last thing she saw
was his mouth
moving, white teeth
bared against pale lips
stretched wide, looking
like a crazy carnival clown
and at the memory she laughed
aloud, a hard, dry sound
that she did not recognize
as her own
suddenly the car swerved and she
realized where she was turning the
wheel quickly to the left away from double
yellow lines and the flash of silver, too late
to stop it catching the corner of
the bonnet and she was spinning still
laughing, seeing white teeth and mouths
stretched wide just like his
but she didn’t hear their frightened
screams.
It was the last moment of her life.
And she spent it unaware that he was
in the house drinking whiskey and
wouldn’t answer the ringing phone
until three o’clock the next afternoon
because he wanted to teach the bitch
a lesson.
Linda McQuarrie-Bowerman © 2002
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Website ©Elizabeth Melton Parsons