We wanted clearly laid out paths
Between thin strands of July rain.
Our faces were drowned in hoods
As the rain fell softly on our heads.
Its sounds came as from the ocean.
Our puny judgments took a beating
In such a steady patter on our ears
Where they seem to be beating us
Like angry fathers, back from office.
As we walked we made tiny circles
In rain water, under our umbrellas
That saved us from an angry sky.
The houses were a blur in white.
Our paths ended in green of trees.
Rain-mud spattered on black coats
Surprised by blurs of passing cars,
Their wipers saying no to the rain.
We had left our school in the street.
Our home of angry smoking fathers
And soft grannies in loving egg-heads
Seemed to vanish in the fuzzy rain.
A scruffy dog shook its body of rain.
Back at home, we bath our wet bodies
In eucalyptus steam, as its vapors rise
Quickly to drown the rain in its smell.