It Starts To Rain – Laura Stamp

while we’re eating pizza

at the Mellow Mushroom,

but that’s okay because

we brought umbrellas

(his black, mine gray),

and it’s still raining when

we walk across a vacant

lot with our pizza boxes

(two slices in mine,

five in his) to where we

parked our cars on Lady

Street, when a man with

a backpack runs toward

us, saying he doesn’t

have a gun, and he’s

not on drugs, but he’s

just been released from

the detention center,

and the Oliver Gospel

Mission won’t give him

a place to sleep because

he doesn’t have an ID,

and he’s HIV positive,

and he’s hungry, and he

needs help, and he’d like

some of our pizza, so

I give him mine, which

he accepts, thanking me

as he rushes away, and

an hour later it’s still

raining, harder than

ever, the limbs of the

palmetto trees and pines

dancing beneath each

glazed drop, when I

realize I forgot to tell

him I’m allergic to

wheat and my pizza

was gluten-free.

 

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