Tuesday, 9 November 2010

Rain #2.

Summer was boring;
I worked all the way through it.
I saw little of my friends,
little of my father;
I played football but twice -
not like the previous two summers.

It seems like all that misspent opportunity
is now raining through my head;
today, faces in the raindrops
bother me, and jostle me;
they ask questions and have
such big voices
for such little people.

In vein of judgement,
like a petty, ineffectual god,
they pour on me,
but do so in a drawn out,
grating manner -
more destructive
than any atom bomb.

I get inside
and write about those little people
to exorcise myself of them.
I eat a pound of salt,
put myself in the oven,
and wait for the water to go
(and soon the water is gone).

Their faces, however,
stay on the window
and I laugh
a hollow laugh.

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