It might not stop raining
for a while.

We might be stuck in here, with the clouds out there
and the thunder scaring off
all the animals
except the crows, calmly picking up
the flat remains of
possums in the street

We might be stuck in here
together
watching roadkill dinner theatre
till night.

We could light a candle, start a fire, burn up
all the memories of things we should have
never kept at all

We could burn our books and bibles, I’ll throw in my bras
for atmosphere
the cleansing smoke of
feminist cliche
will strip us clean

We could make a pot of coffee, pour in too much sugar
sigh when we are out of milk
stare at the water streaming from the sky
and pour it out

We could put old records on, sit and listen for a minute
to the scratching of the vinyl
breathe the taste of yesterday and fold ourselves into each other
till we’re dry.