Striding Through The Wet Sun

Striding through the wet sun.

Thick drops burst
thump hunched shoulders
rattle hats
slide down backs

pummel tree leaves
that howl ‘hold on’

as yellows, reds, blues,
greens are a blur
on the bus stop
and shiny street.

Puddles boil
gutters clatter
dry tenents declare
what does it matter?

And I’ve become
a sidewalk fish
whose shoes go swish

But give up my escape
and choose to stride
as though the warm sun
felt good on my face
and the city
wasn’t so crowded today.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s