Clean and Dry

Clean and Dry

She tries another lengthy swig.

But she can’t swallow it,

and neither can I.

I’ve stayed dry for a couple of days,

but she remains standing in the rain,

holding her tongue out to catch the falling drops.

I watched afar from the window,

while she found partners,

to wallow in the dark dirty pools with.

With my whitest shirt clean,

the phone rang.

I was to identify a form.

There she lied on a cold and careless slab,

Dissected and explored by other men,

she had drowned in a flash flood.

The door shut firmly behind me,

and I opened my umbrella.

I would not be drenched.