Love Minus Zero (reprise)

Humid tonight. I'm sitting in the kitchen listening to the country doctor, rambling again about the softball team that could have been. He talks like a televangleist that lost his crowd.

I sit and wait. The humidity turns wet, and the wind picks up, howling like a hammer. If it gets too wild, the bridge might not make it. It trembles all the time.

He says bank down the road got tellers that could hit a curve like a wall. I ask him about the tellers daughters. He says the bankers' nieces look like china dipped in water, and they're waiting for perfection. Perfection ain't real, I tell him. I got a tree in my car, and a bath in the yard. He says the girls are just letting the wise guys buy em gifts anyway.

The night's turned cold and rainy. Country doc can ramble all he wants, I'll just stare at that screendoor and wait. My love is coming, and she's not unlike a raven -- at my window with a broken wing.