I always think
I leave something on
Back home half way
To where ever it is
I’m going
Knowing I’ll be
Gone days,
The water running,
The coffee pot on
Did I even remember
To lock the door
Thoughts haunting me
The whole time
I am away,
The ghost of a past life
I can’t shed
Clinging to my heals
As I walk,
I wake with it
The first night
And each night after
More terrified over it
Than any real disaster
It’s always the small details
That get to me
Always that last thing
I forgot to do
Or say on my way
From this place to that,
When after all
There’s no damned thing
I can do about it
Anyway.
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