Grey cloud, I am
heavy with questions
of what today is like
for those
who live in a quick, lit city
far east of here.
When it rains there
a stranger’s red umbrella puffs,
like a tulip,
and she orders hot chocolate,
reads,
pretends she wants to be alone
in a crowded café.
But me, I am an office worker,
in a painted-cardboard downtown
that feels like midnight.
And when the rain comes,
it comes in sheets,
beads cracking on the roof,
and I am frightened,
because the streets are empty
and no one walks here.
