The Runaways from Issue 15
We ran from home to the motel
with our unlucky lives,
outdistancing the quarrel
between them and us.
Here we found bedspreads in blues and browns,
a Viennese valance tiered in gold,
TV made blind and musical,
blue tile bath encased in sliding glass.
After dinner at the Pub
where crowds crowed in celebration
of being alive, collegiate and young
on Saturday night in Gettysburg,
we shopped for staples every runaway should own:
cologne to make love smell the way it does at home.
And then we homed inside each other,
selves as known as our four walls,
all wounds washed clean
in sobs of exultation.