Lori and Paul talked poetry.
Rain fell but did not slant under the porch roof.

Poetry looked like a dog.
It rested on the porch with its nose an inch from the rain.

Lori and Paul sat opposite each other on a couch.
It was an old couch demoted to the porch.

Poetry’s nose told it the rain was not in good health.
Lori and Paul never thought of the rain as sick.

The rain did not complain. Its job was falling.
It collected slower than normal to run the gutters.

The rain did not splash as high when it exited the gutter
and hit the flag stone drainage slab.

Poetry noticed the rain puddled like healthy rain.
Puddling was easy as lying in bed.

Poetry heard the grass complain about the taste of the rain.
Lori and Paul heard none of this.

They did spy a note four raindrops carried from the sky.
The rain was excused from soaking into the ground.

Lori thought it should go straight to the riverbed and sleep.
Paul thought the tomatoes would not ripen until the next rain.

copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney