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