When The First One Left

When the First One Left


That night
I slept with your T-shirt.
It smelled like you, sweat and peppermint soap
And boy and dog and pizza
And beer and spruce gum.
That night the bus took you over
Bridges and through tunnels
And cities streaming light
And smoke and noise,
West and west as far as
The land would reach
Away from the Green Mountain
Forest and me.
I wondered if you ate the lunch I made and
If it was another good-bye.
I slept with your T-shirt
And in the morning I washed it.