The chill wind in the streets smells of rain.
A plastic bag glides down the sidewalk
looking for her lost children.
With white nightgown fluttering unheeded,
she passes by unhandsome office buildings
which, being bored by the day's quietude,
are staring into each other's thoughtless eyes.
A big meat-necked man is walking his Pomeranian
while pensively smoking a fresh cigarette.
A young woman with perfect posture jogs by
wielding a formidable length of mop handle.
The five-day forecast calls for the rain to settle in by noon
and to linger until Monday morning.
The pavement is currently as dry as that big man's hacking cough.
A particularly strong gust rushes through with vehemence.
In swift and graceful flight, the implacable mother ascends,
like a freed revenant, towards the grey and churning heavens
to see if perchance her dear ones are there.
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