the Rain

[I'm going to try and write and post a poem a day for a week, this is the first in that effort.]

It wasn’t so much the rain
exploding like fireworks
on the dark grey asphalt
or the wind in the trees
moving like James Brown.

It wasn’t the streams in the gutters,
the black clouds smiling
or the branches drooping
with more than they could carry.

It was the middle-aged woman
hiding under a black umbrella
unlocking her Volvo
with urgency.

It was the cringe
the cower
the shrink
away from the storm
that caused a sigh,

like the exuberance
was simply tolerated
by slightly annoyed people
with schedules and preferences
for quiet and sun.