We’ve seen these years, here:
frosty, slow dances on the horizon
as cows grow thinner. She shows
a little leg and throws a lusty look
long distance, then comes close
to exposing a great billow of clouds
as she bends to whisper something
that rhymes with rain.

We are too old for this charade
of goddesses-in-training, neophytes
stretching like willow limbs
upon the ridgeline, like rock
wrens bumping the earth
to flit away. We need
the real thing: a prolonged
storm to run the canyons.

They’ve had their practice,
entertained the cowboys slumped
at their tables, long-drunk
with anticipation. Rumor is she’s
resting in her dressing room,
has a migraine and may not make
the show tonight. At this late date,
all we know to do is wait.

2 responses to “OPENING ACT

  1. Being one who gets migraines, I love the metaphor……It really dumped rain here last night John. Hope you got some of it.


  2. Writing about it may be akin to praying for it. Keep on keeping on.


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