It's a rainy Sunday in Memphis.
It’s raining.
The wind is blowing easterly,
Streaks on my west-facing windows blur the view.
I hear cars splash down the street,
See their headlights and taillights, bigger, smaller.
The ancient heating system in my apartment thrums.
Removing the chill.
Downtown buildings are hidden,
By the gray-white sky,
The clouds are merged into a sky of rain.
Sunday.
A day for thought and contemplation
Not a day for cycling or running,
A dreary day for being outside,.
Unless you’re a worm.
Instead I’ll enjoy the day from my shelter,
Watching, listening thinking,
Writing.
It’s raining, it’s pouring,
Somewhere an old man might be snoring.
He went to bed,
I hope he didn’t bump his head.
I hope he got up this morning.
