DOWNPOUR IN THE CITY

When it rains, the city is nothing but rain.

There’s no parades.

No chess in the park.

No window shopping.

Just rain.

Like a friend who won’t stop talking.

The rain blowing sideways

like it’s late for a bus.

The anonymous rain soaking me.

The rain sliding down the sides of buildings,

pinging off windows.

The melancholy rain.

The cooling rain.

The rain that makes little mirrors on the sidewalk

so I can check my hair and feel tragic.

The rain rushing into gutters

as if late for a downtown party I wasn’t invited to.

The rain touching every surface

as if blessing it.

The world offering itself

as rain…

soft‑voiced, insistent.