Rainstorm Routine

by Dillon Leet

in storms, i’m sure rain shows off, pirouetting down bleeding graffiti
for the trapped audience half-under the shuddering bus shelter.
it begins to get into my eyes, smudging the swirling faces
that pass by me into a humdrum blur, like shredded modern art .
men shout out from car windows; their words melting into
the collage of damp noise that covers the city, as choking as the smog
that hangs here in the morning. when a bus lumbers past, I ask
“Ticket, please?” the driver nods, lipstick grin dripping down her cheek.