A cold, wet day—
They make their way to the museum.
Never a gentleman,
he holds the umbrella only over himself.
They’re engaged—
adjective, not verb.
A rare Saturday spent together,
which feels no different than being alone.
They work their way through the exhibit—
he walks ahead, oblivious to her.
She sees a little boy grab his hand,
obviously mistaking it for that of his father.
He shakes the small, sweet innocent hand—
out of his own.
Shakes it with force and revulsion.
In that moment, she knows they’re done.
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