Shelter from the Rain

Crouched below the elevated rail –

stoned, shaking, questioning God.

The rain came down... hard and steady

as a father’s fist; (his eyes looming – 

dark as onyx stone);

He tried to drown 

out the clutter of sound;

(metal on metal; tracks, scraping).

His body ached for

the double-fisted silence of his basement bedroom 

(the cool darkness, shrouded in loneliness,

was certainly a less bitter flavor

than rage).

The rain wouldn’t let up,

and it beat down, beat down, beat down 

against the concrete pavement, soaking 

into the City’s membranes and arteries – wet streets

turned small rivers; winds whipping trash

along the sidewalk in a rush; people like cockroaches

scattering in the downpour (faces twisted 

and sour beneath useless umbrellas – black and blue;

dark circles beneath eyes the color of bruises).

I, he, they, we – all waiting

for the absence of rain.