Poetry and Writes

City Rain (POEM)

It's raining now, I see the drops
Slipping down the glass, but
They have a long, slow descent
Until they reach the earth
And soak into the churning dirt.

It's raining now, the hard dense
Kind that makes the ferns blush
And the birds sing, that makes a
Beautiful melodic song--a song
That is just for you.

But it's been a while since that
Kind of rain was its own--
Long ago it did  belong to the
Earth and ferns and birds, but
Now it is chained to the
Narcissistic city.

I decide to walk down the many
Looping flights of stairs, and enter
The swamped garage.
I pass among tarps and brown recluses,
Lightbulbs and kettles and picture books,
And finally come to my bicycle.

I wheel it out into the urban rainfall.
The everpresent moisture has rusted
Its frame and gears.
I don't bother to put on my helmet
As I speed into the busy streets.

The ride creates a poem in my head.
Falling, falling, the rain falls down
Soaking my clothes and skin.
Clouds bloom heavy in the autumn sky
An unchallenged backdrop of gray.

I pedal through the crowds of people,
Drinking coffee, holding their umbrellas.

I rush a red light, feel the kicked-up
Mist of rebellion swath my face.
The moment is short.
Now water in gutters again spits on my legs.

I know for certain that it's going to rain tomorrow,
And the next day, and the day after day after that,
And I'm going to do this old routine again tomorrow.
Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow

I will ride through the streets in
Hurried pursuit of nothing at all,
Chasing only the idea that
If I bike far enough,
Maybe I'll leave the skyscrapers
Behind, and I'll see the sun again.

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow
Maybe I'll escape from the rain.