It always starts with the clouds
seeping in after a long day’s work.
You won’t spot them,
as you mutter about the dishes,
if you don’t look out the window.
Your morning of watery coffee
and soggy granola will grow damp
when you go to rinse your bowl
and catch their cup on the counter,
left, empty, in the hustle to their car.
Then it’s your turn to pop the cover
on your two-person umbrella
and slog down the road, lost
in the downpour of your own thoughts.
Work will hide the sounds of the storm.
The pencil scratches drown out your personal life,
and only the occasional crack of lightning
will shock you from your presentation.
But the walk home finds a tempest in full motion,
the wind, the rain, and the river flooding the sidewalk
choke out all other thoughts, and all you can focus on
is that goddamn cup they left on the counter again
sitting expectantly, for you to clean up.
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