rain

the rain is ferreting at the windows, waiting to be let in
long arguments with doormen invoking lost keys in paperweight excuses
pleas for shelter from the harsh, wet outdoors.

it is rasping like a stuck-needle record end
a detuned television
wheezing promises of dances in puddles, in gumboots
soggy mattresses to bounce on the pavements
begs for hair to drench and foreheads to trample

rain does not like to be ignored
if the rain falls in the desert, and there is no one there to get wet,
is it still raining?
the rain cannot tell.

so it splatters on the windowsill, cracking electrical volts
teasing monsoon thoughts
waiting for the doors to open, the pipes to burst
and the world to come out and get wet