I’m wearing my blue hat and it is raining

The sticky spring air penetrates through the walls of my house

My books are sighing with exhaustion, their spines cracked, words blurred in pools of water

The eyes on my sock monkey used to look real

Now they are sewn in and seem thoughtless


Where is something made to order, and only a dollar?

It is raining


I’m wearing my stripped scarf and it is raining

Flowers that perk up in the spring feel they belong in my world

They are mistaken, but they still try

Only trees that lose their leaves in the fall have a place in my mind

That is the only thing I can take


When can I say enough, and give up?
It is raining


I’m wearing my heavy boots and it is raining

There are stacks and stacks

My book needs revising

The piano downstairs in only a prop

Nothing more


It is raining