poetry - jack sender - all of my life
crowded by splashes, left and right.
up against a building with
no dry space to move ahead.
can barely turn to look over my shoulder.
seeking a dry place to hide from the rain;
at least the cold wind can't reach me here.
great.
i'm pressed against a wall.
hear the passing train.
you hear that?
the reason is the wind coming my way
nearly blows me off my feet.
come on, we're out of here.
you drive, i'll ride.
what are you smiling for?
let's go. run for it.
can recall a day without rain
somewhat plain
down the lane
goes by saying
a wagon drawn by horse
they're out there, of course
merrily we spot them
never to be forgotten
though it was another time
before cars were the solution
speeding all the time now
and my, so much pollution.
mainsail drawn and lifted,
only the jib for the last few hundred yards.
soft breeze this afternoon.
tide is changing now.
mostly boat people on the docks.
a couple nod or wave
others with their minds full can't see everything.
the current pulled me home.
all quiet and content at this hour.
As few squeaks and cleats banging.
the end of the afternoon.
went out and back so soon.
so much we've enjoyed ...
growing, giving savour;
as now we take it all
on subtle tints in whiffs of flavor.
this morning is cold and damp ...
am i joking? It's how morning feels.
today radio mentioned the explosion.
which reminded me
i'm six months and six days
older than the initial atomic blast.
also i'm ten years older than McDonald's.
a softer realm where
the buildings and the people
lived a supplemental story.
different everyone's aboard.
the cast has nearly rolled over.
the color of the trees
and clouds and everything outside
looked like rain.
i've painted it, and lived it
and nothing happened
and i said it again: it lo
oked like rain.
fifteen minutes and i said it again.
without a boom of thunder it fell
heavy as ever rain happened.
plowing to the earth.
wonderful summer rain.
