It wasn't just the rain 
Or the angry messages left when you were "stressed out." 
It was crumbling slate slabs and untied shoelaces. 
It was all of this and Mary St. 
All of this and me. 

The last time I'd seen this side of town 
I was holding hands with him 
And faking a relationship 
While discussing the nature of sidewalks 
And the houses behind them, 
But never the people that made them. 
It wasn't just seeing those sidewalks two years older 
And a few shades darker. 
It was new headstones in the cemetery 
And new cars in dilapidated garages. 
It was all of this and Mary St. 
All of this and me. 
This and dogs barking behind chain-link fences. 
And the woman on the porch steps tying her jogging shoes 
And glaring like a wannabe Prefontaine. 

It was never just the soggy socks 
Left in the wake of April's showers, 
Which will never bring May flowers 
But just flooded fields and muddy roads. 
It's never just a warm walk 
Spattered with sudden bouts of Williamsport rain 
That won't bring any rainbows. 
But it's that Texaco sign a block down from the armory. 
It's all of this and Mary St. 
All of this and me. 
This and that simple "I love you" on my answering machine 
When I returned. 

**
April 9th, 2002