RAIN WATCHING
July [26] 2008
(Poem)
When the rain shoots down like ice
I’m six years old again
watching
from the open garage.
I study brown puddles
and the red worms of the driveway
wishing my shelved wooden sled
were a small boat in large waters.
Across the concrete floor
I drag my would-be skiff
until all front runners are pushed out
beneath the quenching storm
and only the very stern
remains safe under roof.
Rain hits down harder now,
it’s river cold and loud on wood
like BBs on the aluminum siding.
I take my seat into the storm, and
anxiously begin the ritual snapping
of my removable hood
and all seventeen buckles
of my slippery yellow poncho–
then I straddle the wooden sled slats,
rubber galosh to each rudder;
It’s cool outside and the shrill wind
on my cheeks
thrills my spine like a wild river lion.
In harmony with the rain
I seize upon a chorus
of crusty old pirates
chanting like galley slaves
within my hooded ears.
Transfixed by this perfect music
I wait solemnly up on deck
as the garage,
and all my bearings,
start to flood into the cold drink.
Still, my outward gaze
remains immovable,
steady as a seasoned captain,
and eager
as his ranting, toothless, crew
to be swiftly lifted like a paper kite
in a winter’s gale…
up, out and away!
