sunday night, michigan weather

sitting downstairs in the kitchen
on a stool beneath the open window
listening to the freezing rain
beat a lonely haiku into the ground,
book propped up against the counter
next to a hiccuping bottle of dishsoap
a gleaming pile of plates
and a few empty eggshells.
half studying for a midterm
half keeping an eye on the oven
and wriggling my bare toes impatiently
as i wait for the timer to go
and listen to blind pilot telling me
that sweet sad west coast story
of things none of us can recall,
intermingling with the rain outside
and the bubbles shifting in the sink.

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