Dear Frank,

Gosh it seems ages since you left me
at the bus station, saying, Good luck with
everything you want to do in life.

Frank I was a fool
for you and am a fool
without you

but I’ve learned something:
There’s no need for all this thunder
in our heads, between us

if you don’t want me to write,
I won’t, or else I will, sometimes
but only scribbles, not for pay

not for anything as important as
money for our little house, our nest
the little baby birdies we talked about

having. Frank, now I know and I will try
if you will meet me next Saturday at 2:15
at the station, I will give you my briefcase

of scripts, poems, stories
you can lock it, Frank, and bury

the key