Falling rain cracks
the surface of dirty water.
Radial ripples on the lake
slipping underneath
busy bridge archways
soon to be
waves upon the shore.
Cigarette smoke drifts,
passing slowly
through the air,
above damp streets
floating.
Creaky revolutions
of bicycle chains
and the slash of tires
through puddles of rain.
All the lakeside is
tip-tip-tapping
like the sound
of slow
typing, juxtaposing
future
and past.
Through the windowpane
of a
bar with no name,
jet lagged and wild-eyed awake,
we watched the falling rain.
In a place where students and stars
drink to become someone
other than who they are -
no matter who they are.
But on this night
when we've just arrived
from a land afar
(where the night
has not overtaken
the day before),
it's only you and I.
And who's to say
we aren't the same
as Parisian lovers
sitting on the Left Bank
of the Seine?
Tomorrow evening,
when the rain has gone,
everyone will be dancing
and having fun,
or on crowded trains chasing
Chang'e to the moon.
Too soon,
it seems,
we must head
towards the metropolitan cities
of the sweltering south.
Sooner still,
we must return
on a trade wind
to where you and I
are further apart
than where we've just gone.
If ever you should cross the seas
away from me,
no matter how far you've flown,
I will follow
(
this time)
with a ticket I purchased
all on my own -
one step ahead of
tomorrow.
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The Renegades: My Heart Must Do the Crying
Casey Bill Weldon: W.P.A. Blues
The Renegades: Cadillac
