Black Cat Cafe

A cloudy day in New York.
The forecast?
Scattered thunderstorms at three.
Watch out guys, cuz it's gonna pour!
(no one hears or remembers)

Then, the first drop.
Plops itself right on the edge of an eyelid.
Woah, can't see!
Is blinked away.
But suddenly, that one drop becomes two,
then four, then eight,
Until no matter where the drops land,
She can't see.

The newspaper goes up
In a valiant effort to cover that head,
to save that carefully primped hairdo.
Wednesdays were never good.

All around, the ducking heads,
the hunched shoulders,
the scampering feet.
Get dry, get dry.
Pass the ones who are too cool for umbrellas.
What's a bit of wet anyway?

Then she spots it: sanctuary -
in the form of a small, dark cafe.
Turn left around the corner.
There! Across the street,
a small awning -
but big enough for her.

Slide into that dark, dry place.
Squelch against cool glass and a 'Sorry, we're closed' sign.
Small breath of relief.

Begins to wring out the ruined hair.
Sighs. Oh well.
Sees, through the relentless rain,
A figure in dark t-shirt, dark jeans.
He's got no umbrella.
Walking slowly, hands in pockets,
Leaning forward.
Drenched, of course.

A blurry face of wet and eyes.
Long lashes too.
Rueful smile. May I...?
She moves aside.
Plenty of room.

Water dripping off noses, fingertips, elbows.
How lovely.
He grins. Some weather, eh?
The corner of the mouth goes up.

She knows she's soaked and cold,
but who cares?
Two souls together,
in the rain at the Black Cat Cafe.