We Are Waiting For Rain

As I drive through town
A man steps into the road

Between OC Liquor and
The Osceola Wearly Monument

Company, aiming for a
Row of mailboxes on

The south side of Lincolnway.

I might know him.

The gait seems familiar,
But the hair has gone blondish-

White, and, frankly, I can’t
Quite gather a name.

The pavement is dry.

His head is tilted
Towards the firmament.

No, no anvils.

We are waiting for rain.

He does not see me.

I lift my foot from the pedal
And let it hover while

He ambles curbside and
Turns his attention

To the U.S. Mail.

My foot finds
The accelerator and I travel

Across Baugo Creek,
Past the train trestle

To the stoplight that marks
The Saint Joseph/Elkhart

County line, where I skirt
The edge and go no further.

Jack White is singing on the radio.

I want love…

I park the car at the end of my
Drive and turn the volume

Up one click.

The sky appears unmoved.