Sky is prematurely dark
with coming of fall,
I see carlights, streetlights, store lights
reflecting in the wet glass sidewalk shell
which flashes with hyperactive dripping
gathers as rivers in the gutters,
and flows down 91st street along with soaked, scattered debris
to stop for a bite to eat at Twin Donuts on B’way.
I see an man in a black suit and umbrella
I think I recognize,
“Bill?” I ask,
no, he nods, quickly
stunned that a kinky hippie nurse would mistake him for friend
so I apologize,
jump under the DeSoto awning
for shelter,
inspiration
and perspective to this spectacle.

The rain’s died down during the course of my writing,
I hear weary thunder imposing over streets,
but it’s lost it’s heat,
shoulda quit while it was on top,
had us hiding, at attention and deep in admiration.
I turn for home,
no longer impressed

Walking up 91st street,
trying to shelter my notebook from the rain by
stuffing it under my overcoat,
see a man walk towards me crying
singing a woeful Spanish tune as tears well up in his eyes,
and trickle,
I’m trickling too
not of sadness,
but rather of hairiness
truculent beads drip and settle on my brow,
shoulder-length curls slobber my high cheekbone
like a panting dog’s salutation,
and one more thing is trickling,
unbeknownst to me
until I look at my right arm,
streams of blood run jagged from bicep to wrist,
shocked, I desperately look to block the source of this,
until I glimpse my left arm bruised blue on surface,
I realize it’s not me who’s bleeding
but the dye of my kinky nurse’s outfit,
and my feet
wet as my squeaky sandals
are stained purple
the color of my pants
which drag against roughly-textured cement.

Ha,
kudos to you,
oh crafty thunder,
I doubted your stamina
so you shot me with rain such as I feel no pain,
but I bleed the mark of the unfaithful
red purple and blue
betrays my doubt of you