Standing alone on a corner, A man. Dark hair, dark eyes, Shades and a heavy coat, Looking up and down the street, Noticing every move. Especially the traffic That of a fairly dead town.
Feeling a cold tap on his cheek, He looks up, Rain clouds. He hopes not for a downpour, But heavy clouds tease with sprinkles, As thunder laughs deeply in the background.
Just to be safe, he steps back, Closer to the tattered awning Of a shop that had seen better days, A sign stating, “Out to Lunch” Permanently nestled in the window’s corner.
As the rain picks up, he gets restless, As does the wind. His vision shortened by buildings in the way, He nearly misses yellow lightning Passing him by.
Not knowing if the vision was real, He runs after it desperately. He sees it clearly, but it sees not him, For it makes no stop.
Heartbroken and wet, he stands in the rain, So he’s sure to see the next one, And to be seen.
It’s so hard to get a taxi in this damn town.
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