His face swinging from ear to ear

A bemused smile lighting up

His gander gait

Under the burlap mop

Who’s looking at me

Why is everyone looking at my legs

His mother telling him to be back this summer

Before the green peacocks turn to Indian blue

Droplets big as his nightshade eyes bursting at each

swan step

Boy on an errand

The stealthy guilt-ridden leaves of the linden

Motionless in the metallic green boiling flood

Boy still running in the rain

How old am I

As old as the linden when it was eight

Where are the caterwauling magpies this day

None to mock me in my gait

He thinks he’s running in the still hot rain

But the cars and trucks along the road shower

In their mindless manic main

Wait till you see my master drive me proud

Over the bridges under high-voltaging cables

My throat loosening up in coughs and curses

The mud drained from my tired gables

Boy still keeps running in the rain

When will the summer end

When the cotton sky turns to lead

Or when the boy stops running in the rain

(c) T. Wignesan July 13, 2011 — Thursday, August 4, 2011 – Aug. 2011 Poetry Page: Long Story Short Website