Patience With Soothsayers

“Back home is a shithole, but it’s my shithole!” Gabby says.

“This place isn’t kind to me, I’ll go back to the winter I know”

 

A rainy Tuesday, not sure if winter or spring or nothing at all.

Where can you go? Where can you live? Where dreams grow?

 

Gabby smiles and I tell her a joke, make her smile for a moment.

I like to make her laugh, to chase away some shadows, sorrows.

 

Keep hoping the sky will open, and either God or a comet will come.

Either we put the brokenness behind us, or no more false hope tomorrows.

 

Gabby is a star, and I am star, but we’re suns once eclipsed by the moon.

Light casts shadows across home, unearthly light that lingers in prayers.

 

I drink my beer, I watch a game on one of the TVs, and enjoy her company.

Passing as she heads north, I south, having lost all patience with soothsayers.

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