Dull Grey Day

In a candlelit bar
out of the gloom
The piano
Tinkles
A Jazz noir tune.

I sit and watch
A woman
Fashionably attired
Wait while
A doorman
Summons a car

She departs
Into splashing streets
Rain dancing
To the wipers' beat

And I, dry behind
The jewelled pane,
Watch
As she slowly
Drives away.

In my mind
I follow
Through wet streets
To her condo

She exits
Beneath a portico
And an elevator
Whisks her
To her tower...

Sheltered
As a hothouse flower.

What does she know
Of rain or pain
Or dull grey days—
Other than her view
Of the lake?

The fire bubbles
In the grate
As she pours
A Manhattan,
Scrying the riddle
Of rain trail patterns

What, if anything,
Goes
Through her brain?

Barriers dissolve
And I’m given
A glimpse...

A vision
Into privileged
Position

And I stare
Amazed
At a string
Of dull grey days…

And despair so great
It drives her away

Back out into the rain

Where she enters
An unending haze,
And slips beneath
Dull, grey waves.