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The Rain Drives the Rivers
The rivers invade the gutters,
pushing paper trash around.
Glazed sidewalks --
the pock-marked, knuckled,
and sandy complexions wash up
against regiments of bricks and
multiplex square tiles. The tide
is a hesitant veil of rain first
gentle then wind-blown turd-
sized drops come down in a
couple columns, at once like mist and like
the smashed up fist of a boxer's
pudding nose. The gray people
move about with their heads cut
off by umbrellas and newsprint.
One red hat in the crowd of cement
and stone is like seeing her --
she who once was and will be
again with regards your friend.
Copyright Louise Robertson
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Copyright Louise Robertson