The rainyday becomes a rainynight –
still a rainy-on-its-way –
still hundreds west –
still twelve late –
and I will lay but not lie:
me and the rain
need each other – I
to breathe –it
to exist.
I had been expecting the rain
all week – had rolled out
the carpet – raised the blinds –
moved the metal – planted
the plants – all for it – for I
was losing breath – slowly
and surely – like the pet fish
across from us – lurking amongst
neon coral – yes, like a blacklit fish at
a strip mall sushi joint –
yes, like the cheap TV
playing Japanese racing
fiction above us – Tofuman always
racing down Mt. Aino – I hide
in the corner of our booth –
like your Chinese grandmother –
“soy sauce is for poor
people” – “rich food has
flavor” – my arms
tingle – you pay
for lunch – just rain
already
please.
I would write beautiful poetry
for The Weather Channel
but I am afraid I get too invested.