We heard the rain

and good, we said,

the grass is looking awfully dry;

that was then.

Besides, we said,

a little rain never hurt anyone.

There was lightning.

We heard rain on the roof.

Thunder rolled like a kettle drum.

It will pass, we said.

That was then.

We heard the rain on the skylights.

Sounds like popcorn popping, we said.

The lights flickered.

The power went out.

Time to hunker down, we said.

We heard the rain,

heard it slow down and start up again,

like those candles,

where the flame re-ignites

and the days rained into each other;

water stood in the yard

like a man who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

It lapped at the windows.

It rushed through the streets.

Beer cans, and plastic bags.

A small black shoe drifted by.

We heard the rain.

And other things.

Besides, we said,

that was now;

this is then.




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