Waiting

Brian Taylor

5:15

--“She’s dead.”--

The city is green and gritty,

A watercolour suspended in gravel;

The soft edges of distant skyscrapers bleed and run

Beneath the falling rain.

5:16

Beneath the falling rain

He checks his watch again around the rose in his hand,

Puffs on a cigarette.

--“She’s dead.”--

He tells himself she got away.

5:17

He tells himself she got away.

--“She’s dead.”--

The voice in his head is louder now, and he turns his coat collar up against the storm

The rain is clammy against his neck

Like her hand in the dark, the night they planned their escape.

5:18

The night they planned their escape.

A few days ago. A week, on the outside. A lifetime ago.

--“She’s dead.”--

She told him she’d meet him this afternoon,

Where the dead sleep beneath pillars of grey.

5:19

Where the dead sleep beneath pillars of grey, he sighs;

after hours in the rain

Watching the sleeping dead looses all appeal.

She isn’t going to be here.

--“She’s dead.”--

The Cabal got her, or maybe she sold him out to them.

5:20

She sold him out to them?

--“She’s dead.”--

He remembers her hair, blonde and glowing in the dim light

When she said she loved him.

No. She wouldn’t sell him out.

5:21

She wouldn’t sell him out, so

--“She’s dead.”--

A warm tear slips out of his eye and down his face,

Imperceptible in the rain.

Turning on his heel, he flicks the cigarette away.

5:22

He flicks the cigarette away, deciding he’d better leave before they come for him.

He drops the rose.

He feels for the gun in his shoulder holster, just in case.

He walks towards the painted skyline.

He thinks, “She’s dead.”