one morning you woke up
slid out of bed
having packed a suitcase the night before
and left it in the hall.
you pulled on a peasant blouse and long skirt
laced up your sandals
bent over the bed where
your lover slept sprawled
on an Indian bedspread with embroidered mirrors
and patchouli crimson
he stirred and looked up at you sleep glazed and fond
you whispered, I’m just going to the store for cigarettes, be right back
and he said, okay and rolled over.
you gazed hungrily at the bedspread
but didn’t see how to explain
pulling it off the bed
so you exited, picked up the suitcase as you shut
the apartment door behind you
and in an hour boarded a plane
flying from San Francisco to Boston
thus saving yourself from long arguments about why you will not stay.
so that was how ghosting started
you get sole credit.