Black Rain

A tale of sorrow and horror in a deserted diner.

  

 

A grungy diner

Is where we stop

To eat,

West coast

Winds going every which way

Across the desert.

 

Clouds overhead

Are dark and moody,

Just like my wife at

The moment.

Driving for fourteen

Hours straight will

Do things to people.

 

The cramped two-person

Beetle may look cool,

It may have been my dream car,

Yet it’s

Cramped

And a wife who’s

Six-months pregnant

Isn’t the best company.

 

Winds hammering the windows

Of the place

We enter,

Tangled in a storm of marital

Blues and baby blues.

 

Like I said: grungy.

Roadside diner

At midnight may not be the best place

To be at the

Moment,

But the chef looks

Nice and the place is empty.

 

After fourteen hours

Of angered words and harsh tones,

I need quiet.

 

The booth we

Sit in is ancient, telling

Us stories in

Low, hushed tones of

Dust and spilt lunches.

 

I listen to the stories.

They speak of

Hamburger specials and

Friday night truck stops,

And of how Coke used to taste

In the 60’s.

 

I wonder how old this place is.

 

(Where’s the waiter?)

 

The stories continue.

A kid once got sick here,

In this very diner,

And up-chucked his taco meal

On this very booth, did you know that?

 

I’m still listening to the stories when I’m

Rudely interrupted

By a loud clap of thunder,

And the following

Beat of rain

On the diner’s tin

Roof.

 

Now it’s the combination

Of wind and rain

That does the

Talking,

Moaning its tales of sorrow.

 

I could cry,

But as I turn the chef

Is already taking out his butcher

Knife and running

For my wife.

 

Two lives will be lost,

But I don’t care.

 

April showers bring May flowers,

But for me they just

Bring the eternal regret

Of life.

 

For my unborn son,

Death.

 

What provoked that

Chef I’ll never know.

Maybe next time the

Stools will tell

Me, their wooden supports

Mumbling out answers.

 

For now,

The black rain

Tells stories.

Author's Note

What do you think?

Reviews

[Jamie Taylor]

I Love It! It Was Absolutely Amazing! I Liked The Part About The Booths Telling Stories. It Was Really Cool.

[Ian]

This poem was cool there were so many stories in that booth and i thought" I could cry, But as I turn the chef is already taking out his butcher Knife and running For my wife.two lives will be lost, But I don’t care." was funny got me laughing until it really happened becoming another story.