My date-night turned out empty,
As rain came tumbling down,
‘Twas a flash of lightning,
‘Mid the thunder sound.
The city road has ended,
Into a trail of gravel,
Its lights dim so slowly,
Across the path I travel.
Tall phone poles are sparse,
No connection for my phone,
I walk the crunchy trail,
And, I am alone.
Past the old play park,
With the empty swing,
A rivulet of water,
Tries a tune to sing.
The nearby new-grown meadow,
With sprouts of fresh green grass,
Water droplets sit on blades,
As my feet do pass.
A wet city behind me,
Breaking clouds above,
The rain-out then departs,
As springtime strives for love.
The date-night was a wash,
The fresh smells do delight,
All things do seem equal,
On this rainy night.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.