The rain is angry, thudding concrete
and pavement, affect-less against it
and the rushing footsteps bolting to cover.
Others wait with me; 'Hello, friends,' I think,
faux-friends, they're waiting for the rain to stop
and I'm waiting for her to come.
I could be waiting awhile, but maybe she’s quick
to the crescendo; stupid grin hits my face,
my inner humour a quick dimwit.
Bus stop time glares, red LEDs static torture,
a man steps in and anoints me with his umbrella
waste-off, the appointment passes by.
Last time this happened her excuse was valid;
her phone had eaten her dog and the dog
had to go through the phone's digestion, or something.
Should've agreed to meet inside - there are empty seats,
all bases forethought and prepared army-style precision,
not that she'd be here because of that.
Great. Rain, like a trenchcoat over my failings,
ugly and old and unattractive,
even sun and shine couldn't doll me up.
Hoards hoof off, clomping mini masterpiece-craters
of dirty water; rivulets slalom; streams sting necks;
the phone beeps in my pocket: here we go.
"I've been waiting ages," glares angrily on screen,
causing me to search all coverings, and there;
dripping, hair like strands of wet silk, she's here.