Salmon Poetry

The Rain on Cruise’s Street

Right now

I’m envying the rain on Cruise’s Street.

And it occurs to me

I’m probably the only one,

but I am in no hurry

as shoppers

rush between Claire’s and Boots

as it heavies and thickens

and the clouds overhead

groan machinelike.

And yet my envy

I could pinpoint down

to a single

and isolated drop.

This one,

I could scapegoat for the rest

as they come down,

lashing the faded red-brick

in torrents,

turning it a muddy brown.

That full and luscious drop.

That one right there,

see it?

The one trickling

down her neck

like a lover’s liquid tongue.

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