After the Rain

My son and I stood by the river watching drowned frogs float by after the hurricane. Rafts containing soaked, homeless people rushed past, one after the other. DPW workers, librarians, crossing guards. Two women screaming. Is that mom, my son asked. Yes, it is, Rob.
What does all this mean, he asked. One of us will have to make the meatloaf, son. The other woman was my mother in law. I suppressed a smile.
What will happen to them, dad?
They will go over the falls, crash into rocks and be broken into pieces, son. He wiped away a tear just as another raft carrying pizza guys wearing aprons blasted past to certain death.
Is there a God, the boy asked.
God is everywhere. I will take you to the dog park and let you watch old arthritic dogs still try to lick their own balls. That is evidence of God.
What will our government do?
Drop supplies from a helicopter and make speeches. Look at the bright side. More parking spaces for the survivors.
Then my son and I sang The Sun Will Come Up Tomorrow from Annie.
He was off key. I was perfect.

Rain

Rain

A lost day is a lost day
Getting wet isn't the issue
Flooding is not what bothers me
There is something frightening in watching rainfall

What upsets me are all the singles
Crowding into places and ordering coffee
Spending hours reading papers, typing, texting
Sitting in my seat, doing exactly what I do every day
Even in sunshine

None of us can deal with staying inside
During a monsoon
We eat and nap and watch old movies
And at some point panic sets in
As we contemplate our lives

Falling short of whatever plans we made
Wondering what some long ago love is doing
As the drops ping on our roof
Splat, splat, splat
A life running off toward gutters