Zero

The rain is a curtain of gray, heavy lead.

I’ve got three long miles of walking ahead.

The leather of my boot is rubbing a hole,

a burning red blister on the side of my sole.

I checked the map just to see the next turn,

but the screen went dark with a final, short burn.

A pathetic chirp, and the power was gone,

leaving me stranded on a stranger's lawn.

The glass is a slab of cold, slate-colored stone.

I’m standing here wet and I’m standing alone.

It shows me my forehead, a smear in the dark,

under the yellow of a street lamp's spark.