London Poem: Day 284

28 May

The sundry skies
Brim half-full,
Waiting to empty.
A man asks,
“What does it matter?”
I, under the awning with you,
Watch him disappear into
The now drizzling evening.
Your eyes turn to me,
And mine, well, they stay
On the man, until I can
No longer pretend I see him.
I begin to wonder what we
Are waiting for?
Truth, I suppose,
Whatever it means;
It stretches two ways,
Though neither of us seem
To catch on –
We just wait for the
Rain to stop, so that
We can push on
Deeper into the night.

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