On the sidewalk, in the spring rain,
she scowled at me hard,
the way a lion eyes its prey.
She stood motionless, silent, soaked.
The rain, or tears, rolled down her cheeks
and dripped from her chin.
An invisible rage radiated from her aura
that struck instant fear in the current of passersby
who rushed around her on that gray day.

My soul had been murdered before,
and so I figured, why not again.
Under the awning of that coffeehouse,
all I could do was not give a ****.
I lit my acid cigar and puffed
until the smoke clouded my vision.
That day, I would die or I would live.
Either way, there was no sense trying to control
events or time, when the inevitable rebirth
was certain, and would change everything.

The reasons for the standoff
and its conclusion are unimportant,
mere details we've all lived
and forgotten.