COULDN'T 'TIL TUESDAY
The chilled air means the rain is coming,
that's what the smorgasbord man said.
All I had to do was look around to
sense that he was right : surface breezes
turn to wind. Just ain't right but goes
on all night. Then I'll awake to the
spit of rain and a fresh-dawn morning
of wet sidewalks and caked decay.
All that dripping junk behind sheds
and garages. He just stands there,
cooking his grill-steaks, and he talks
while he does it all. Whew! What
a taskmaster he turned out to be.