The evening of sunday 29th rolled in with ominous
clouds and wind that ripped through the eucalyptus trees
he sat in a restaurant, waiting for her to come
constantly checking his cellphone for the time
or for a message to say she was on the way
she sat on her back porch, phone off, door locked.
Smoking the cigarettes she always hid from him
one by one. Determined to finish the pack with
a bottle of red wine by her feet to wash the taste of ash away.
She didn’t know why she didn’t go. It would have been kinder
to directly refuse the ring he had been keeping in his tie drawer,
but she found she couldn’t. Hating herself for cowardice,
even as the rain and lightning drowned out his knocking.