Reds from stoplights
yellows from streetlamps
they all melt into
watercolor puddles
pools that ripple on the edge of the sidewalks
I should pull my head under an awning
or pull up my wet collar coat
but I lean back and drink it all in
the drops racing down on me
the music from the club I can't afford to sit in
the smell of fried oysters and geriatric buses