Breaking orbit, I call it, this driving away, against
………….gravity, against nature, away, away, away

from my baby. The escape velocity it takes to slip
………….the bonds of the med center = responsibility.

Under steel wool clouds scouring the sky’s dishwater,
………….I push through the loop, past the beltway,

then I am in the petrochemical corridor, headed east,
………….listening to The Band sing about Little Bessie.

The same truck slices through traffic, passing by all
………….the Tinker Toy plants with their flare stacks

blurting waste gas into the atmosphere. Rags of roadkill
………….sizzle with flies, as kudzu, that green shroud

of the South, shags every power line and loblolly pine
………….and climbs the billboards selling Jesus or casinos.

As the odometer turns its 136 miles, my thoughts
………….are of that little love of mine and lesson plans.

Rivers I cross are the Lost and Old, then the Sabine,
………….where the sign reads Bienvenue en Louisiane.

When at last I’m following the arc of the 210 bridge,
………….my breasts begin to leak. And then my routine:

park the car in the faculty lot, grab my satchel filled
………….with bottles and books, find a restroom stall

to hand pump milk and cry just a little bit before class.