I should've guessed, I should've known.
If there's a lightning, thunder will come.

That I was a guest, this wasn't my home,
but I was just too afraid to be alone.

Winds might change after tomorrow
and the sea my pain could somehow swallow.

But today there's this mountain of sorrow,
that blocks the sun, and makes me feel hollow.

Population: 131

Under the blinking light that, like her, faded
into habit, her life was paved on the cross
of Williams’ Settlement and Souls Chapel Road.

He wore holes in the knees of his
Wranglers, and knew what it meant to work
for a livin’. He’d sing to her every night,

but nothing could drag her down
County Road 31 and out of town. Lavender fields
swayed with the wind as he drove away. In ten

years, he’ll come back, guitar slung
between his knees. He’ll find her on the front
porch in plaid flannel, her silhouette fired

by the coiled lights on the Christmas tree.
Home sweet home is now a black and white Polaroid;
even the red bricks have gone white.