like a whistle through teeth

(alcohol, domestic violence & gun mention)

Hurt, 28 years old and wrapped in Vermont thicks

Standing on the edge of a field, where corn moves the wind like a whistle through broken teeth
Not enough to stop shaking,
While waiting at the bus stop
They hold their bag close and root through the essentials
Passport, purse, change of clothes
Pen and paper for postcards, maybe even apologies
The bus comes
They ride
The miners give them strange looks but pays them no mind
They recognise one as a drinking buddy, who seems just as blabbering
Sober as drunk
They retract into the corner a little further

They run off two stops early with a clattering down the aisle
because they saw a car up ahead
And assumes him knowing

They get off the bus and run across the road
The only person about at this hour
Into suburbia, where they always saw themselves headed
The houses all look the same in the unwanted dark
All blue and all grey
They have no idea where to go
The cold becomes unbearable
Very, very cold,
The car comes and waits for them
With headlights like any other sunrise. The blues cower away as the light comes through and stays static on the road
They collapse under an SUV
On icy ground,
he steps out
This is how they have always known each other.
He is hunched and reckless
But they break out and run
Into the open car door
One lucky minute, he left it open
Not before he has takes his hold
They let the bag go
In one cold clutch, they became nobody but scattered food stamps, underwear and a passport
That expired years ago

They see the rifle in the back seat
a sleeping hound.
They feel lucky forever.