Blind Mice
I submit to you
There is nothing
Remotely close
To sauntering through
A thunderstorm
Smiling when lightning
Scares the shit out of mice
That took the cat’s sabbatical
For granted
When the Sleepytime teas shake
On the porcelain saucers
At the chef’s table
From thunder’s dominance
Funny how he gets in
Without ever being invited
Lovely
How darkness shines
Giving shades of gray their fame
Though no one ever wants to notice
Black umbrellas POOF open
God forbid we shower
Before we get home, no conditioner, no comb
They bob and weave like ants
On apathy’s path
Hoping the tears of angels
Don’t stain the silk
Prada doesn’t hold up very well
In puddles
Love descends on me
Collides with my flesh
Washes my wounds
I welcome the kisses
While wondering
What kind of a world
Lives for the fire next time
And runs from the rain?

In The Fray Contributor