home

he walked alone, down city blocks,
past empty stoops, in the rain.
his hair was wet, and cold,
as was the rest of him, and he walked.
he looked down, not ahead,
looking at the puddles before he stepped in them,
and fought against the urge to lay down
in one and give in to the cold wetness.
but still he trudged ahead, with wet feet,
and a shirt soaked clear through
looking for that apartment with the
familiar white light lit up out front.
he knew she'd be there waiting,
probably looking out through the glass
that made up the front window.
he'd see her face, her smile and little laugh,
then the way she'd come to the door,
and insist he come in and immediately change,
because "oh my god, you're soaked."
home.
he walked alone.