The Next Three Days Poem by Ronald Baatz

THE NEXT THREE DAYS

Tonight Z was lamenting
about wanting to leave town.
We were drinking wine
at the kitchen table at his place
and he just wouldn't stop.
When Sigrid came out of the bedroom,
after putting the baby in the crib,
she glared at him with weary eyes,
begging for silence. He talked
right through her eyes though. He
kept saying the next three days were
going to be murder, but didn't explain
exactly why they'd be murder. He just
insisted and kept walking around the table
at though he were going somewhere.

Woodstock/1986