The hurried sky so angry now
about to cry a trillion tears
causes pause to the shoppers on Michigan Avenue
as they search for a taxi, or a doorway, or another blue dress
as the summer storm rolls across Lake Michigan.
The old woman just sits and drinks her tea, hot as steam,
and watches the shoppers scamper,
their bundles branded with store logos,
their day interrupted by the driving rain,
as she stares out of the rained streaked window,
loneliness washing over her,
thinking back to those days she shopped here
with girlfriends and children
and every once in a while her husband,
but that – that was forty years ago,
when a summer rain evoked different feelings,
and her time was too valuable to spend the day
hiding in a diner
all alone
just to watch it rain.
14 June 2009
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