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 percussion
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 and lost in old freddie king songs
old wind blows thru broken windowpanes, old books blown open
flipping random pages, old voices singing: armageddon!
armageddon!
god himself screaming:
marge!
we need more jars!
rain for the cities and the plains
rain for the little desert warbler
rain like razor blades in cascades of raging blue future
rain to tame fire, rain to wash the burnscars down dark dangy drains
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 dreaming
placebo memorial gazebo
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
posted for the sunday muse and poets and storytellers united and earthweal
i’ll be back tonight or tomorrow to read everyone’s poems
jalopy dreams 