Ian Anderson 6 p.m., March 7
- Community Blog
- Throwaway Poetry
Sunday in December Rain
The sky, lack luster blue
striped clouds dance like kites tails to the horizon
until the wind comes up
grey, overcast becomes the new display
only the gulls witness the change.
Small drops of rain begin to fall
merely a nuisance
soon there is enough water to mix with the dry dust on the ground
small muddy patches develop
exposed the occasional pedestrian slipping
as the drops become larger
umbrellas pop open.
liquid begins to pool in the once-dusty streets
passing cars avoid deeper puddles
without any fanfare
rolling dark clouds appear
the rain begins in earnest
instantly water runs forcefully through the gutters
until it overflows
out onto the main boulevard.
Crossing any street shoes are soaked through
Pants are wet up to the shins
Stay to the inside
walking on the sidewalks
so that the water spray from passing cars cannot reach them.
Hurrying along now
pressed on by the rusty rivulets
that divide wet and dry into separate camps