the obvious

you are good
at stating the obvious.
it might
rain, you offer
as the leaves
turn up
and the wind blows.
a lighting
bolt flashes
across the sky.
it's getting cold
too, you say.
rubbing your hands
together,
putting another
long onto the fire,
closing windows,
and turning
the furnace on.
you don't love me
anymore, I can tell
you say, as she moves
her pillow
to the living room
couch
and calls her mother
to whisper something
into the phone
about a lawyer.