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A Bird Calls Through the Rain

01 Aug
Our morning porch-gasm was interrupted.

Not by a miserable jilted (lover?) or a random robocall,
but by a downpour, which meant the dog and I
had to move swiftly to let her squeeze out
before we were both sopping wet. Still,
the pitter-patter and rumblings are symphonic
compared to cellular so-called
"communication," which often seems
more masturbatory than genuine. 

The pit didn't like 
getting wet, but loved it when I toweled
her off.

When was the last time you powered
the mole off & just
listened to the rain?


 
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Posted by on August 1, 2021 in Poetry

 

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