Saturday, March 08, 2008

the 6th time

you burned yourself on my lips
flaming coffee pots at 8am
elevator music outside the hospital
bits of toilet paper trapped in trees

it starts to rain
no one curses, lifts an umbrella
flaps a newspaper over his head

the stop lights continue
red light, green
bus left running with the keys in the ignition

garbage pails overflow
with plastic bags, half-eaten
tacos, dirty coats
the sound of something rippling,
snapping, the sound of wind

the sidewalk speckles then darkens
no one sidesteps puddles
no one watches the rain shattering
the clouds on the street
rings within rings
water breaking, regrouping

Christmas presents left out on the curb
in case someone wants them
before the water soaks through


Talia said...

I love reading your poetry...there's nothing like it.

Collin said...

Your imagery is really just superb. You put me right there on the street in the rain.