. . . try to see through rain

. . . What are you doing here?
I’m looking/ not looking at the young lovers who have wandered over to the gazebo down on the grassy shore.  Their hands in each other’s pockets.  They lean into each other.  They read each other’s faces like everything they’ll ever need is written right there.  They ought to be in school this time of day.  Or working.  I’m trying not to remember what they look like.  I don’t want to recognize them later – or more probably just her – months from now at the food bank, big-bellied and abandoned. . . .

.

[story: FEBRUARY 30, 2011 – “taking questions”]

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