great
loaves of rain clouds,
rolled grey,
darkening
and low
is what
we see as we drive north
on the interstate.
heading
home from some holiday.
we've been
silent for hours.
the wind
has picked up.
she says to me
with no inflection in her voice,
it looks
like rain.
i tell her. i agree.
when it hits we'll pull over,
okay?
are you
hungry?
i will be, she says. i will be.
then touches
my hand,
in apology.
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