Drop her on the bed,
(Dial 4 for room service.)
but she’s already up,
swinging her suitcase around the room.

When it is dark we look out the window.
Big Sky country, she says.
(I don’t tell her.
She doesn’t know the difference.)

She smokes her Marlboros,
warming her hands around them.
I sleep underneath the Indian pictures.
(Dial 6 for wake up.)

In the morning I take the car to a 7-Eleven for gas.
As I drive back toward the hotel,
I forget why I married her.

When I get back,
she is standing by a Coke machine,
waiting on the curb,
balancing,
arms swinging.