An Evening in Chicago
Ineffective rain
Drips silently
And makes me think
my bayview window
is melting;
Unsettling feelings
Draining
But not washing away.
Vengeful London weather
Has overtaken the sun’s resistance;
with cool air
It forces down on us
like fashion:
“Gray is the new yellow”
So say the drops...
Tyrannical drops
That form an inflamed medley
of carnival colors
where traffic lights
attempt to pass through my window
and give me light.
Their gangs form pools
on the roads
where they slow down cars
and spray pedestrians;
drowning out all noise
from below.
Muffling the life around me.
But as the humid air
aggressively flows around me
it unwittingly gives passage
to olfactory activators;
Sensory receipts
from the karaoke restaurant next door
that tell me
greasy chicken is still favored
on Friday nights.
On the last day
of a long, dark week.
Middle aged couples
Unwinding with Chinese cuisine
keeping conversation and drinks light.
Laughing together quietly.
My mind turns
and soon
I am swiveling on a stool
next to this couple.
Instantly the room is warmer
and barely audible decibels
report that the man with the baritone voice
is covering “Sharp Dressed Man”
The classic guitar riffs
stir vague childhood memories;
blurred by age
but detailed enough to make me smile.
Yet something else is stirred...
A loud whistle precedes the swinging shut
of my window
As my smile fades
with the sounds of karaoke music.
Sporadic cracks of angry thunder
and increasing winds
ensure that I will hear no more tonight.
and suddenly
I am back in my apartment
on my couch.
Very alone.
And convinced
I am where the storm wants me to be.
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