Poem: A History of Rain

History of Rain

 

the sky is dying

in ditches and puddles,

leavening the streets

till they swell with emotions

recycled from our crimes.

drainpipes moan like didgeridoos,

vibrating with the same water

that fell on mammoths, stegosaurs,

and before that, the howl

of young volcanoes.

 

when water first fell

it neatly evaporated,

playing phoenix without fire,

a rainforest of phoenixes every day--

then came the human faces

and collisions with tears.

 

ever since, there’s been no escaping

those sad happy bored stressed mean vain fitful cheeks

and the gutters below their vicious melodrama.

torrents have become histrionic.

storms a modem of the gods.

 

rain rages, wails or chortles now.

there’s no innocent praise,

no rising up with the dignity 

of fresh angels.  no hallelujah

in the vibrato of  puddles,

only microcosms of the theaters 

of the lonely.

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