Rain

It has always meant the world to me.

Where I grew up, the sky was blue, broad,

And empty,

The ground hoarse and harsh from malnourishment

When the storms came, it was theatrical.

The clouds would billow in, the darkness

So unknown, we’d have to sprint out into it.

Shadows would skitter, bunch up, unravel

Spilling their thoughts upon the ground.

 

But before all of that, the smell.

Nothing is like the desert just before the rain,

The lust and longing of the ground rising up to

Meet its foreign destiny,

There is, it turns out, a term for this, petrichor,

“Stone blood of the gods,”

And no phrase ever captured a meteorological mood so perfectly,

The interplay of violence and beauty,

The way the earth, overwhelmed,

Bubbles and flows outward into the expanse.

For a day, like millionaires, we have waterfalls.

 

Now the rain has become more common,

Hotel TV rag

I

Crepe-Away, a magical product, flashes across the screen

It will restore your dry, feeble, ancient flesh to

Springy glory, irresistible to your spouse and strangers.

Actresses and ice skaters swear by its qualities, the way it

Delves into your cells to coax out what was once there.

 

II

Puerto Rico will not be saved.

The costs of living in the path of havoc

Will not be covered by the government

Because reasons.

Perhaps aid will come if they become a state,

But they’re just a distant island now

And anyway, it’s not Katrina, you know?

And then there are some Nobel Prize winners.

One man was totally shocked to get the call;

He feared that the noise was a coming storm.

 

         III

The Icelandic people LOVE their volcanoes.

These steamy vents are scenic appliances,

Used for cooking eggs,

Baking bread long-term.

If this weird symbiosis is troubling, you’d never know it.

Later, the travel host sits down at a stump with a cheerful, dry-witted man

To taste rotten shark.

“Viking candy,” the native deadpans.

The host takes a bite and chews,

A ballet of disgust enacted on his facial muscles.

 

IV

The local news is quiet today.

The antler arch is lit up pink for Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

V

Kamala Harris (D-California) is discussing the importance of DACA and tax reform

Pat Toomey (R-PA), clearly agitated, argues that the sources used

Are left-leaning.

“This doesn’t mean their research is wrong, but let’s not pretend they don’t have bias,”

He says, weary.

Mr. King (I-Utah) cites the future.

“I don’t want our children inheriting our debt.”

Five year olds, he says, would evict them all.

 

VI

Former Chair & CEO of Equifax, Inc.

Is offering new services

To protect oneself from breach.

Safe software

An ability to scan the dark web for your information

Available reports

Better locking technology

He is being quizzed on the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on cybersecurity

He can’t keep track of the money.

 The Senator has little patience for his roaming wallet.

 

VII

Father and son fix a filter in a car together.

The son moves it an inch to the right.

The father smiles.

Student has surpassed Teacher.

There are shoulder pats and well-slung grease rags.

Invest in your future with Cyprus Credit Union, and you too

Can bond and poke engines.

 

VIII

Southerners are suspicious of a neatly dressed old man who enters a diner.

Some folks are nervous about decorations and preparations and so forth.

A wedding, filled with tension, is at stake.

A moody man goes fishing.

Perhaps

He will heed his mother’s speech.

 

IX

Stylish hipsters earnestly gaze at laptops

In their industrial work space

Drama is about to commence.

Relationship problems, stemming from Misconduct In The Club and Friendship Ruptures,

Are blooming.

 

X

Mark Wahlberg and friends are at the bar.

They love football and beer and each other.

The bartender philosophizes:

“You know how it works in South Philly?

Our strength has always been in

Our numbers.”

 

XII

The ladies of Pitch Perfect

Sit around a campfire

And the sound is off

What a beautiful piece

of accasurrealism.

 

XIII

Shirts!

They never fit just right.

Men!

Design your own online.

Love! Acclaim! Style!

All yours, with this handy-dandy app.

 

XIV

There is great intrigue and speculation as to

Which tire was punctured.

You see, we have to know

Who hit the brakes

and Why

A twist will come after thorough investigation

And these messages.

 

XV

Father and son, long estranged, are having a discussion about ethics.

Son believes that Father, despite transgressions, still has shreds of decency.

Father maintains that he is completely subject to the rules of his employer

And that, while the Son has trained well in his chosen profession,

It won’t keep him from being terminated.

The Son – once angry, now Zen-like – reiterates: YOU’RE GOOD. YOU KNOW IT TO BE TRUE.

The Daughter, meanwhile, is focused on sneaky but proactive butt-kicking.

 

XVI

A charming, older lady gently chastises a young boy for stealing a candy bar

From the convenience store.

He departs, and she and the clerk discuss

His essential goodness, buried under misguided ventures.

Then, while she checks out the Thanksgiving birds,

Two men, dressed all in black and touting guns, burst in

And because it’s a convenience store

And because they’re filled with rage at the world,

We all know how this ends.

Incidentally, Mark Wahlberg returns, this time with

The Scowl of Revenge.

 

XVII

The Old Man and his Charge walk through the immaculate white.

King’s Cross, minus trains,

Ruminating on connections forged in pain,

The twists of fate and love,

And choice.

 The Charge is realizing that he must go back to the struggles of the world he left

So violently

Must be brave enough to live on

And fight.

He’ll go back, and end a saga.

 

XVIII

“We’ve got a smart guy named Jonathan -”

“Little lonely, little lonely -”

“What are the odds he’d meet someone in a psychology chatroom?”

“We should message all the girls in the chatroom: Do any of you know a girl named Kelsey Beezlebub?”

Catfishing afoot.

 

 

 

Branched

The backyard has always been one of my

Favorite

Spots

To sit

In town

 

The very first night I moved here, I sat out back on the steps, warmly happy for

Chapter Two

Playing Wilco’s “If I Ever Was A Child”

Staring up at the spindly, cinematic silhouette of the trees

Dreaming

Of

Climbing them

 

Tonight, there are new floodlights

On the neighbor’s garage

I had not known that yesterday

Or the day before

Or whenever the last allowed rapture was

Would be my last visit with the old shapes

If I had

Perhaps I would have lingered

All night long

 

But here they are, now, irrevocably changed;

Where the outlines once were everything

Now, half the tree is lit up

Stark

Bold

Beautiful

Its every thought and detail clear

Even with some old sweet shadows

Still behind it

 

And I think,

“My life will be good because it is mine,

Mine to hold, mine to mold,

Mine to have in this imperfect, wooly world”

And the wind blows,

And five drops of rain spatter down heedlessly

 

And then the storm is gone.