The five of us stood together
in front of our house
and watched the rain runoff
rise out of the gutter
and over the yard.

Those few out driving in this deluge
see me drenched with shadowy bodyguards
that no enemy is willing to approach—
not even the lightning
as the thunder reverberates over the block.

I am not a young man anymore
according to tradition and census
but this corralling empty trash bins
swept away from their homes
by the runoff tickles my fancy.

On the depressed playground
of the corner elementary school
a pool forms at least three feet deep
as someone young in a yellow slicker
hangs upside down on the jungle gym.

The four other aspects of myself
soaked head to toe
washed free of swagger
go back inside while I fish
a Barbie doll out of the gutter’s current.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney