meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

      Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   338404 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry

   


Read Poetry
Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan



The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre

Dragons

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

More Poetry >>

 
Features

  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook

 
   

All Wet


rain is not the same
everywhere.
in Minneapolis
the weather doesn't
mess around.

standing on a corner
my consigned-to-be clothes
triple-garbage-bagged
I am nearly swallowed
alive by a sudden
impromptu
deluge.

didn't plan on
that one.

I'm three blocks away from
the nearest bus shelter
and each car passing by
is creating a series of
tsunamis.

rain is so heavy it seems
to fall from both the sky
and the ground...
sidewalks getting a real
cleaning, they seem more like
decks on a lake.

I grimace, determined,
with no bus in sight,
bus not coming for another
five minutes,
bus finally arriving to
cover me with yet another
tsunami.

climb aboard
I mince at the
cheerful driver
dropping in my fare
nearly sliding all the way
to my
seat.

make it to my destination,
enter, my shoes squeegee-squashing
across a dry floor,
I say to a life-size
red-lipped Vintage Barbie
as she nods
in my direction:
I'm all wet,
the clothes are
fine.


I'm listening to the rain in Portland and getting
restless for an old-timey Minneapolis thunderstorm.
Mo' Nature does make the real thing back
in the Midwest, I can guarantee you that one.

Copyright September 2,2013
All Rights Reserved by this Author
Melissa A Howells
Meloo from her tilt-a-world
This actually happened in Minneapolis





Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem

Comments

 Email Address

 

Vote for this poem