leaving town

you tell no one
that you are leaving
the country.
you've packed a
small bag of
personal belongings,
and a picture
of your dog. you've
had enough, you're
done with
everyone. they
don't care or
love you anyway, but
you feel the need
to text them
as the train pulls
out of the station.
hey, you write,
can you water my
plants and take
in my mail while
i'm gone? plus,
there's some left
over chocolate
cake left in the
fridge, help yourself.
i'm going to canada,
you tell them,
who wants syrup?
and as your
fingers tire, telling
everyone that you
are leaving town,
your battery goes
dead, and so you
stop and close
your eyes. you stare
out the window
as the train rolls
slowly by some
cows out in a field.
there's a weathervane
on top of a barn,
rusted and bent.
you can't wait
to get home.