Wednesday Night Full

I wasn't going there — just cutting through

on Waverly. The lot was full. I slowed

without meaning to. Wednesday. Twenty-two,

twenty-three cars. I don't know what bestowed

this on a Wednesday — six years going,

I never saw it close to full on Easter.

The marquee had new letters. One was showing

its crooked side — the R in something. Easier

to read if I'd stopped, but I didn't stop.

There's a text I haven't answered, someone

who noticed I was gone. The crop

of guilt is pretty small, but it's not done

growing. I cleared the lot and kept on going.

The R still crooked. Wednesday. Not knowing.