Leaving Normal

Just before you bring the last box

of your things to the taxi waiting

outside, make sure the glass-table

they lent you is wiped clean, spotless

like your head free of yesterday’s

they-ask-you-answer dialogue

with the committee. No words will be

said, not a word will have to seek

their approval. Dust off the last shelf

and don’t you go and forget the books,

scissors and things you lent them.

Empty your basket, too, of all trash

so the other bins filled to the brim

next to your table utter nothing,

with their unfeeling mouths,

as you now head toward the door.

The driver’s sounding his horn by the gate

so just run past the guard you warmly

greeted, coming in this morning; well,

refuse his hand to carry your stuff

but remember friendship for good.

Seated in the car now, take comfort

in the cushioned couch, wiping off 

the dust gathered on your palms.