Drops on tin
hardly heard—then
torrents and grumbling thunder,
bulls bellowing madly under the metal roof,
cows lowing mercy.
In the murmuring grow rivulets
scowling with flashes of lightning.
The night thirsts for fear.
The corrugated roof
screeches and howls
for seeming hours,
for the sin of protection
or for the arrogance of its erection?
A drip begins by the bed.
Diminution is showers
ungrowing slowly--
what weatherman called them light or heavy?
The rest of the night
is soaking rain with no run off.
City falls uneasily to sleep.
The peasants dream of pigs and chickens and geese
fattened on rice and beans.
E. A. Costa October 4, 2014 Granada, Nicaragua
No comments:
Post a Comment