Cold Feet

To my right is a glass of water. It shakes with each moment of my wrist. I'm supposed to be writing a poem but I can't stop thinking about this one day. I am thinking back to a day, a drizzly day, in Kansas City. I was standing in the lobby of a movie theater in my red coat. I had cuffed my jeans to keep them from getting wet--the jeans stayed dry but my feet did not. With my hands in my pocket I waited. I always waited for him. I never stopped waiting.