http://fft3.com/old-site It was late fall when the clouds came in from the mountains,
and brought the rain
that scattered the tourists and
forced the shopkeepers to unfurl awnings
and open the umbrella’s out on the patio
overlooking the piazza.
“You should seek cover,”
the headwaiter said, turning
to the old man sitting in the wicker chair
in front of the Hotel Beviloqua,
“the rain is coming and it will be here quick.”
The headwaiter did not hurry the man
for he knew there had been a death
and that the absence pained the old man
in a great, and unbending way.
“The rain,” the headwaiter said again,
cranking open the umbrellas;
his hand moving as though a piston
on a locomotive
barreling through the Alps.
“Sir, the rain is nearly upon us and you’d be wise to seek cover.”
But the old man did not move,
and the rain came
and soaked him through
until his freshly starched collar
began to wrinkle and bend about his neck.
We stood in the doorway of the Beviloqua and watched the rain pour off the eves.
“Poor man,” I said, “he shouldn’t be out in weather like this.”
Emma snuggled close and held my side tight.
“He’s crying,” she said,” he’s crying harder than the rain.”
––Ethan Denault is 28 years old, dirt poor, just likes to write, travel and fish.
We are proud to showcase Ethan’s work in Volume 8 of Kansas City Voices. Order your copy today at: http://www.kansascityvoices.com/
