Waylaid

Desert, night,
Eleven and I hadn't eaten
since one. Tarantula
a few inches from my shoe.
I wouldn't flinch
for fear of waking him,
should he be asleep.
So many eyes
and a wave motion
to slow appendages.

"I need to ask you a question,
before we start," said a new voice.
Old man, paler than the climate could
bear, ambled up. "No, nothing serious."

"Fine."

"If you're going to leave,
why'd you come all the way
out here before?"

"Had to." "Yeah?"

"Yeah, can't go 'til
you say so anyway. You
gonna write a letter or
something? I don't
think so."

"Fair enough."