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It’s raining

when the police cars

and ambulance

park in front

of the old man’s apartment.

They leave their windshield wipers on

and hurry inside

with oxygen

and a defibrillator.

Twenty minutes later

they’re back outside

with blank faces

putting away equipment

talking on cell phones.

The rain has stopped

but their wipers still scrape

back and forth

on dry windows

like pendulums counting notes

in a last refrain.

When the clouds part

they all drive away

and the sun shines

on the old man’s home.

Tendrils of steam

from the wet pavement

hover above the parking lot,

then rise gently

up into the sky.

.

© 2013  Betty Hayes Albright 

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