Leaving

The folk at the coffee shop
talk of coffee,
among other things.

I'm sat at a table, centered,
facing the counter.

My stomach twists,
part from the coffee,
part foreboding.

Outside it's wet and rainy.
Inside the lights are dim;
it's cramped, buzzing.

My flat white's gone cold.
I go to leave but can't
seem to time it right.

There's a lull, and I
methodically slip out,
hardly noticed.

It takes my old Nissan
three tries to start.
I turn left onto Chicon,
left again on 7th,

and before long,
I'm dawdling in a
stripped apartment,
less home
than question.

Spencer Eckart is an Austin-based poet and writer. His work has appeared in Ghost City Review and is forthcoming in Apocalypse Confidential.