Rains Me
John Grey
It rains me blind,
drowns the city,
this submerged body
of gasping concrete,
gurgling steel.
The world’s a shipwreck
sinking in the deep,
broken on rocks of thunder,
mainsails seared by lightning.
I look at my watch,
the one thing visible.
You said 10.00 under the awnings
of the bank.
But there is no bank.
And time, splattered and misting up,
is barely holding on.
It rains me worried.
It rains me stupid.
Such a roiling ocean.
Did the big waves pull you under?
No, here you are,
struggling down Poseidon’s sidewalk.
I pull you into me,
hug you close.
It’s a perilous night.
Even the life rafts need saving.
