Threat of Rain

May 30 2016

It was all about rain threatening

bad weather,

a soggy end

to a long week of work.

Really, rain a threat?

Because who speaks

for the morose, subdued

burnt-out?

Who like dull Saturday afternoons,

the steady patter

motionless air.

Who like windows frosted with mist,

little rivulets

zigzagging down.

And what about the earth

thirsting for rain?

Dusty roads wetted

creeks recharged.

Parched fields, greening-up.

So let the fetching weather-girl

with the perky smile, and décolletage

get a real job

selling used cars.

Just the facts, ma’am;

don’t editorialize, or judge.

When I will walk barefoot

and dance in the rain.

Or feel sorry for myself

in chilly greyness.

Or immerse myself

in a deep Dickensian read,

close to the fire

dog at my feet.

Or listen to baseball

as it was meant to be heard.

Late at night

on that distant highway

in a soft southern drawl.

The fizz of the crowd, the crack of the bat

the wipers’ rhythmic slapping.

Static, fading in-and-out

the dim dashboard light.

From a lush green field

in the sun, somewhere

still sparkling with wetness;

grown men, playing at children’s games

after a good stiff rain

had passed.

It’s always irritated me when the weather person presumes: just give me the facts; don’t decide what’s good and what’s bad.

And why so afraid of rain? We don’t melt. We have rubber boots and rain hats. Farmers love it, gardens need it. Sometimes a crappy day matches your mood. In poetry, it’s called pathetic fallacy. And in real life, it’s called misery loves company.

Because the rain gives you permission to cocoon. Because you know the rain will pass. Because it’s always sunny, somewhere.

And driving in the rain, at night, listening to baseball on the radio. Really, what could possibly be better than that?!!