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Day of Celibate Rain

Day of celibate rain,
Stamping the tomfoolery of birds
To the line.
Maybe the last time I saw your eyes
Was in high school graduation-
You said goodbye,
And now the rains, they keep up what the
Customers should,
They dampen boxes and wet wood.
And I know your name
While the airplanes go leaping,
Leaping on the weathered planes;
But it is so lonely not having you here,
And the rain makes me realize just how absolutely
Good it is to be alone,
Without a son drafted from your silver
Womb,
Without a plumber for his tomb:
And I want to think of your eyes somewhere
In the curtains of this weather,
But your eyes are good and gone
And making their own celebrating where
No poinsettias can grow,
But where the tourisms grow so much that they’ve
Become fanciful with their own generations,
And where it doesn’t rain
It snows.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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