Headline by Aly Rinehart
He moved in and she moved in,
219 and 218.
She drank tea and he picked up
his morning paper.
She rode her bike home every night,
and he brought take-out back from work.
It rained that night.
She didn’t ride,
and she didn’t see him coming home.
She dropped her teacup
and cried.
He was on the front page
of the soggy morning paper.
Alright then. Don't forget that April is National Poetry Month, so please send me your poems (in comments or emails) so that I can share them here!