Answering the
Spoken Rain

Driving through nowhere
at 3 a.m.,
I am searching
for the place
the lightning has left.
And the mindless chatter
of the radio’s quick-fix shrinks
is momentarily silenced
as my fingers
find a tune
that was written for me.
And if it wasn’t,
well, then it should have been.
It matches my mood.
And my new silk blouse.
It feels like home
to my lips.
They take their hat off.
Put their feet up.
But still can’t seem to remember
the words.
Maybe my mouth is broken.
Like the rest of me.
Maybe I’ve made them up.
The words, I mean.
Or maybe I’m just changing them.
Like my mind.
It’s been on automatic
since my heart has lost
its sway.

A. J. Huffman

If you have any comments on this poem, A. J. Huffman would be pleased to hear from you.