Diane’s Seat

The sleet is turning into slush.

I sat on the bench near the bus stop

to wait for the stinging in my eyes to quit.

The metal strip was a shock

through my thin jacket.

'In Loving Memory of Diane.'

The plaque says she loved the storms.

The green mold has filled in her name

until the letters are soft.

I’m sitting here, Diane.

It’s a hell of a day

to be out in the rain.