-a diner, the weather, an old man and the young woman-

I’m encouraged this morning

by the way a warm, but heavy rain
falls upon the pavement of the parking lot.

when the downpour stops,

they arrive through the narrow entrance of the diner

sitting at the base of the Avenue of the Seven Hills.

an old man beats his soft fedora against the drenched

right leg of his baggy trousers then walks toward the two-tops.

he doesn't like the looks of me as I consider him from

my stool at the counter.

maybe he knows I write things down.

it was difficult to determine where the temporary

stain of rainwater stopped and the permanent stain

of perspiration began above the band of his aging fedora.

I make note of how the knees of his trousers are stretched

well out of proportion, befitting the look of trousers

among his age group.

he moves deliberately to the aisle and sits

at a two-top between two rows of open booths,––

one row to wall-side, the other row to weather.

the young woman enters, pausing at the door near the register.

she bends her head backward, airing-out her hair, rain-

droplets beneath the stark florescence glisten upon her face

as if stepping from the bath,–– the surge

of years between these two confront and challenge the diner's

once quiet mood, and so much of what is being done seems

better done when I'm around after the rain.

Al Mack's Diner / Fall River