Monday, 31 March 2014



I Think My Repeat Prescription's Getting Damp

May I speak to you, rain? Will you grant me an audience?
There are confessions to be made, rain. Down on one knee,
head bent- will you listen to me? Oh rain.

You see, rain, you have been mistreated. I shake. You have
been mocked, oh mighty moving water. And will you please
listen to me? Even if only briefly? Oh rain.

Games are played with your name, rain. You give us a drop
and we call it a shame. We make short rhymes and tell you to
go away. And there has to be another day. Oh rain.

We cliché you, rain. Can you countenance this? We cat and dog
you; we say that you pour; we say that you piss. Take yourself away
and it’s all quickly amiss. We dance and kill. Oh rain.

Names are given, small categories. You are light and heavy, shower
and drizzle, spits and spots, deluge, monsoon- cloud-riddles. We
quiver. Can you be tamed with a name? Oh rain.

I’ve heard at burials your visit can bring luck. To others you’re a reckoning,
come to destroy those of us stuck in sin, so bad, rotten within. Each of us due
to drown like a rat. We made up a story about that. Oh rain.

I could point to your homophones: holding horses and toddlers, guarding
thrones. But, rain, I’ll desist. On one knee, I’ll insist, just a few seconds
more. The cascading depths, the awe! Oh rain.

You see, I know what you feel when you let yourself go- little mankind
rushing to, rushing fro, as if we actually had somewhere to go. And dreaming
of control. You splash us awake and let us know. Oh rain.

When you come, rain, the earth smells good, it really does. You celebrate
the frog, unearth the worm. But why the rumble, now? Do you think I am trying
to assay you? On the sodden street, outside a law firm? Oh rain.

Rain, all the chemists are closed. Are you something I dream up in the sponge
hours imposed this Sunday, bloating and thick? And please, one more thing
to say. If I rhyme you with pain, will you wash it away? Oh 

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