Betting on the Rain

If we don’t have the Paris Accord anymore,
We do have the rain coming down with such force
That no featherless biped dare emerge from the cave
As the feathered ones and the rest of the fauna
Stay tucked in and waiting.

Growing to the steady rhythm of the rain
Are all the potted plants and every wild green thing
Along with the domestic.
Here is a rain forest,
And we are its smallest occupants.

When I take a tentative step onto the deck
To dry the chairs and to swab the floor
That I might expedite my return to this
Breezy wild space,

A chipmunk scutters past my feet,
A sparrow lights on the patio table
And the crows laugh their commentary
On what I think they see down here.

The rain does not engage in politics.
Like Putin, like Trump,
It takes what it wants.

All we can do is watch it happen,
Knowing how small we are.

This is participation

If you’re betting on the rain.