Screen door open to early morning dark,
the floor seems to creak under bare feet
sneaking behind me, then stampedes to the roof
as she returns unannounced to surprise me.
I am always glad to see her, nod to the gods
and check the radar, check the forecast
to see how long she’ll stay this time.
I am, of course, a fool for her—always forgiving,
yet seldom forgetting her infidelities.
Even though I see in the dark with old ears
that spend more time rhyming with
what I want to hear than what’s said,
she brings no huff ‘n’ puff bluster of baggage,
no laundry to do—wearing only
a light yellow sundress for her short visit
to keep us all hanging on a fading hint of green.
She feels no guilt for being gone, for letting
our household go—dances in on little feet.
drycrikjournal 
I love these poems about the “rain mistress” John. Wonderful.
Also the dentist one. Would like to mail a copy to my dentist if that is OK.
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OK. I regularly accuse my competent dentist of ‘prospecting’, and try to remind him that I don’t need a 100,000 mile warranty at this stage of my life.
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