It Was Raining

The February night was cutting and dark.
She and another made up the occupational group
that headed to the lot where they had chosen to park.
And She,
his elect, his conspicuous dupe.

She drives home late most nights
as demand of function creates a reason.
It was an old car, a tornado. No internal lights.
A pattern gifted unto this recidivist his In Due Season.

Quiet were the streets, save the cars signal to right
blink blink
Aphotic were the gravel pits
passing
She then started to think...
pour rain, yes, it just might.

A sound...like a slither
A feeling...like a shiver
A sight...in the rear-view mirror

All thought was expended
as the knife was intended
to keep her subdued
as he gave his instructions in language so crude.

The go here, go there
inadvertently obeyed.
The turn here, turn there
inadvertently made.

Last thought is this, to be quickly dead.
Last memory is this, a painful sound.
Into the pits She was led
where She is left, to straggle the ground.

Time passed slow, or maybe it flew,
She did only this, to simply draw close
anything more would poison her view
her first memory of this, a thought so morose

It was raining.