summer's glow would set the clouds aflame
were it not for some raindrops sent falling from their beds.
everything always gets extinguished by the skulking rain
who walks along, slowly, like a man spurned by his beloved.
it settles in for the long haul around here; takes off its shoes
and watches some kind of celestial television.
water always makes good entertainment for the clouds;
it sends us scurrying here and there like dropped marbles.
floods send us adrift; winds make us drive nails into plywood
sealing ourselves inside a house to keep our families safe.
it's the best kind of movie, and the admission's free, since
all clouds have to do is just sit and watch, and send the rain
like some army general who orders troops but never joins the fight.
rain always bends at the waist to sunshine, who sweeps her yellow skirt
across the great plains and into the heart of the breadbasket.
she smiles, and when she does, it melts the flesh of weaker men
but only singes those who bought good sunblock.
her light skitters across water, refracting and bouncing off at tangents
till ocean spray looks like some eager christmas lights, and
swimming pools reveal their turquoise depths.
but some days, sunshine excuses herself from work; says she's got
things to do elsewhere, and could the clouds and rain pick up her day off?
she's a flighty temptress - always going off to warm up someone else.
the clouds don't mind. they like hovering over the cities, and besides
good entertainment has been hard to come by for a while.
and the earth stays parched, until some outside hire
comes in and tickles the dark, heavy underbellies of clouds
and gives new life to a land scorned by its ultraviolet lover.