Howard Firkin
She puts a pebble in my shoe and says,
"I want to know you feel each step you take
away from me." She packs my bags with rocks.
She folds the map into a paper boat
and re-types the itinerary to show
all destination cities as a blank,
all dates set in another century.
And then she smiles and cocks her head and mocks me:

"Dr Livingroom, I presume?"