Gray, bloated storm clouds

Obscure the peaks of the Chicago skyline

As the gusts swirl and propel the mist

Like a firehose plugged with a child's finger

I'm stranded at Burrito Beach

A below average fast food purveyor

Nursing a Pepsi, staring into the bowels

Of the half-eaten carcass of a shrimp burrito

Abandoned and hemorrhaging in its

Little black basket

Outside people huddle under

Trembling, mangled umbrellas

Rushing around as if it were just another day

Each silently contemplating a world

Forever shattered.

There's steam rising from a construction site

Across the street from the White Hen

And all I can think of is how fragile

Concrete, steel and brick are

Healing is a difficult, inexact process

A trial of patience, an elusive myth

An impossible desire to recreate the past

There is no escape from memory

And so I sit here, shaking nervously

Thinking about Rachel,

Wishing for clear blue skies

Instead of this slow, weeping rain

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