Pop-Up Storm

We dash from eve to eve along
A street in Little Mexico. We
Hadn't heard that it would rain.
The waiters from the taquerias
Stand inside their doorways,
Aprons on. No one will come
In now. The little kids still
Play outside. The tourists'
Cars go swishing by, as we,
Now at an intersection, see
That we've run out of eves.
Our own car is blocks away,
So, soaked, we stop and
Hold each other. Then, we
Laugh. This isn't, but it
Is, a fine first date.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2015-11-02 at 05:33

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