Cry in the shower. Save yourself
a rainstorm: listen to the basketballs
falling tropically on the neighbour’s court.
Drop-kick a potted cactus
for its dram of ooze.
Lick your wounds at the watering hole
two blocks upstream. Drool into your beer,
then drift outdoors, take a leak on the levee.
Confuse “tribulation” with “tributary.”
Invite Psycho to supper. Shower.
If cooking up a storm,
cry into the flour.
Try to milk the cat. Lick
your wounds. Empty sacks of rock
salt over anyone’s tin roof.
Percentage-wise, people are mostly drips.
It takes umpteen to plump a rain pillow—
glutton rigged under the eaves
to usher last night’s
downpour to your shower.
Shhh…
This appeared in the October 2012 issue.
