makes me wish I'd bought that new wiper blade
before setting out. Not so heavy anyone's pulled
off the road, except for an embarrassed
dude in a convertible parked under the bridge
hoping he hasn't blown his chances with the
woman beside him. I didn't get a new blade;
he didn't bring the top, or maybe he can't get it up
(not intended as a pun about overcompensation,
because he was pretty young, after all).
Ahead, a distant but distinct opening
in the heavens, surprising window through which I spot
blue sky. It doesn't taunt, isn't smugly making us
aware that not everyone's having a rainy afternoon.
Maybe some folks misinterpreted, but I caught the hope.
Storms wage all around, the flooding sometimes
reaches the critical stage.
I struggle just to keep my nose high.
Straight ahead, though, even then, clear skies are there,
waiting for me to catch enough of a glimpse that I remember.
I find myself grinning, hoping that the soggy woman in the
convertible is laughing hysterically instead of scolding him,
that they're using the interruption to sit and kiss,
making a memory to talk about
for the rest of their lives.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012
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