Might know it would rain day and night.
Dawn will be so grey, it won’t recognize
itself.   Fog’s runny as that slop they slap
on your plate on the inside, but I see
evidence of clots.  Not going to get lighter,
is it.  Doesn’t help that streetlights along
here are bull’s-eyes for construction rubble.
Damn, but it’s cold.  Feet are getting soaked.
These boots suck big-time.  Ought to check
Goodwill’s return policy--laugh if I could.
“No ballroom suit,” the guard joked as he
tossed it at me.   “Got that right,” I squeaked..   
Give you skivvies, a fiver, and a ticket
to Revolving.  Don’t look for anyone to
be waiting.    Smeared face just passed
half-hidden by a hood.  Was it an omen?
Walk fast.  As blood ribbons from the tail 
of a cruising black-and-white, I offer up
thanks to a god doesn’t believe in me,
and never has.   Makes two of us.

         (c)  Phyllis Jean Green,  2010

                All Rights Reserved