Stopping at the Gas Station

A 3x5 inch red spiral notebook sits
on the console of my husband’s car.
An easy reach for a quick note,
too easy for a quick glance.

I see three words written
on the lined paper.
I want out.

I want out? Out of what?
Three words written like a grocery list:
Lettuce, lemons, leave.

He gets back in the car, smiles,
and asks good to go?

I said no.
I want out.

I open the car door, slam it shut,
walk away.