the tears

The Tears.

It rained when she drove off, she was crying
but wouldn’t tell me why; house cold and
the day darkened, evening came early not as
twilight, just murky. Bad light couldn’t escape
by reading a Mike Spillane novel, just sat there
wondered why she had cried, a long drive in
the rain, did she sense foreboding I was too
numb to feel? The flowers on table cloth are
black roses now and the outdoor lamp swings
in the wind