Rain is Not Red

Rain is not red,

though it should have been

that night when the clouds

shook with thunder

angry we sat together

with sticky barbecue and

snow white water,

I did not belong there,

on the wood of the dock

behind his house, but

somehow, he didn’t either,

at least that is what he said.

 

Rain is not red,

though it should have been

as it hit the roof

a drumline without tempo

my blood rushing

in my ears and veins

as the sky held me,

pouring too,

and we rained on burning land

clouds forever red

like the rain should be.

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