it was raining. I went walking. you were there,
frolicking beneath your rainbow umbrella,
and both of us soaked to the knees, no puddle
safe from our romping as I walked you through
slick black streets under the yellow and blue
streetlight haze, skipping down the lane, laughter
echoing from the brick walls of downtown.
I got you to your door and you looked at me,
and I at you and I came up that last step,
lips warming for a wet taste or your lips—
and right then your dad throwing the door wide
and asking what-in-the-hell, then laughing
as he shooed us inside for your mother’s
cider, a cozy moment to shed the chill.
David M Pitchford
12 October 2011