Warning: This work has been rated 16+.
1) The rain is growing to be
more and more certainty
and less maybe
the clouds strain and heave, yet
I hesitate to spring my umbrella to life
for fear of encouraging
the lightning
to spit down upon me.
2) The man who just
whistled past in his white car
sipped from an open mug.
This poses a firm potential of
spilling, scalding, and causing
serious skin damage.
3) I think all the cars driving past
take me as some suburban hooker,
haunting this grassy corner.
Damn these shorts.
4) Ok,
if the rain comes, the umbrella
goes up
even if it means I'm sizzled,
cause I'm carrying a book
of poetry much to fine to
buckle under the weight of
water stains.
Even if they're the tears
of the sky, they aren't
poetic enough to belong.
Now,
my sister's bus groans and shudders to a stop
and all those little ones swarm like ants
scurrying to find shelter before the sky splits
so we take to the sky, sprinting
through this almost-storm and
my problems are gone
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140,533 Literary Works • 673,403 Reviews
Hi there!
I loved that your poem has such a distinctive voice! The numbers worked to your advantage and everything you described was both relatable and distinct to the situation. You kept it to one moment in time, which is what poetry should do, in my opinion!
I read the fourth stanza almost like spoken word.. it just had a rhythm to it. I think that was my favorite stanza.
I think you bringing in the fact that the narrator was waiting for her little sister at her bus stop was nice, too. It explains why she was there and establishes a little relationship for the narrator. However, "take to the sky" sounds weird, especially after you say "sky splits" and right before you say "sprint". "Take to the sky" reminds me of flying, which I doubt the narrator wants to do, since she's so afraid of getting struck by lightening!
Anyway, super good. Keep writing!
RoyalHighness has arrived to review!
I really, really like this! I like the numbering, and the descriptions of all the people. I could just /see/ that man with the open mug, and the judgmental passersby.
I love how you don't "open," your umbrella, you "spring it to life"! It really made the umbrella...well, "spring to life!"
I just love every line of this poem. And that's just. That's just /that./
Ten stars of ten, m'dear, for your wonderful poem. Stupendous job!