Changes Due

"See the way the top of the building blinks?" he asks, pausing to breathe some warmth into his stiff fingers.

"Steady blue, clear view.
Flashing blue, changes due.
Steady red, rain ahead.
Flashing red, snow instead."

We stand beneath Boston's skyline, the February sky spite hard, tiny flakes that don't even feel like snow at us. I begin to wonder if we are trapped inside a snow globe of the city, as if someone bumped the one that I bought for my grandmother when I moved here.

"Changes due, what does that mean?"

He shrugs back at me, "The guy who wrote it probably just needed something to rhyme with blue."

I pull my hands from my coat pockets and press them to his cheeks as I think of all the things that rhyme with blue.

Glue. Flu. Queue. Askew.

The color returns to his cheeks as he places his hands on top of mine

"What would I do without you?"

Hue. Screw. Through. Dew.

"Do you want to go to Starbucks?" he continues. "I think you need something warm."

I nod as he takes my hand and leads me through the twists and turns that are this city's streets.

Moo. Debut. Construe. Spew.

He walks with a certain authority, maneuvering around the old-folks taking pictures and the men dressed as colonial soldiers ambling about. I use my free hand to pull my scarf over my mouth.

When we arrive, he orders his drink and gesturing towards me says, "Coffee?"

I shake my head, "Tea."  

True. Few. Adieu.

You.