the rainkeeper (2nd draft)

old maid marge never loses a single drop of rain
leaking thru the roof
none will stain the wood grain floor
she spins a million puddlebowls
each drop will plop plang and pling with planned precision 
        she likes to sing along
old maid marge keeps tidal waves in jars 
angry stormspells, unrelenting and fermenting 
        old maid marge turns water into whiskey 

old men drowning in parked cars paralyzed by old guitars
old dogs play dead on spinster rugs 
        as storms bang against the paint-peeled world
old winds blow thru broken windowpanes, old books blown open
flipping random pages, old voices singing: armageddon! 
                god himself screaming:
                        we need more jars!

rain for the cities and the plains
rain for the little desert warbler
rain like razor blades in cascades of liquid rage
rain to tame fire, rain to wash the scars, rain to swamp the graves
	rain for cain 
	rain of abel 
rain for thirsty puddles
rain for the thane and rain for the rogue
                rain for getting naked 

old maid marge plants watermelon in her weathered garden
she likes to watch water grow, sells them by the barrel 
old maid marge sits like marble sculpture praying
a birdbath in a grove
the water in the bowl seems somehow blessed
is the same rain that falls everywhere
cup your hands to catch some
			and exist 

note: going to sit on this one for a minute, something still doesn’t seem right