Driving down the highway
Stormclouds
have turned to rain.

Droplets
splatter
against the paine.
Streams of possibility
Gliding over the horizon

I stick my hand out.
It returns dry.
The feeling,
I’m perplexed.

No rain, graces
my palm. I was taken

back to when my
old man failed to show up
or would slide
away just as suddenly

as he appeared.
The sense that something.
was off started to rise
then disappeared in a flash.

A big wet one
hit my palm.