Auf Wiedersehen, and Au revoir. — Goodbye.
He rolls the mower into the tool shed, then,
goes upstairs to pack.
With his face pressed
against cold pains of glass
he watches the westering sun turn dark,
listens to the rhythmic beating of a universe,
not his.
He will eat dinner at the linen-covered table,
hold his fork respectably in the European fashion;
talk of home.
Later,
he takes a pair of scissors,
cuts his credit card in half.
He will take only what cash is in his wallet.
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