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 conversations
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 their tables 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;
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 collected on your palms.