Family Dinner and A Writing Session in the Rain

1.

A shimmering, capable
blade sits adjacent
to my
plate

In the corner of my eye
a moisture-laden Merlot
sits on an ivory-white
table cloth

a single drop of sweat rolls
down the small of my neck
disturbing the sensitive
hairs

I choose to ignore the salt shaker
sitting on its
side, a
tiny mound of blasphemous
dust beside it

A loud crash causes forks to
silence their massacre
and I stand
slipping away;
attending to the horrific
salvation.

2.

Rain
falling
on a dark-green umbrella
smoke mixing with
steam
from simmering coffee beside
book and pen;
gray skies shine, reflected
against the slick, black
street.
Harsh breaths, taking in
the brisk atmosphere
exhaling warm byproduct
exhaust from the machine
that is
your soul.
Blank, raindrop dotted
pages give way to

thoughts of fireplaces and
Persian slippers full
of the choicest tobacco

notions of hansom cabs
clattering down narrow
cobbled streets

and ruminations of warm, tossed
bedding with
two heartbeats
held close

The pages fill
and the ashtray is
twice replaced
The world falls silent

as the

rain

breaks

and the sound
of a dragging pen is
replaced with a
single set of footsteps
wandering to a cold,
empty
house.