I see a red regatta in the rain –
five-pointed leaves deposited in clots
on white concrete, that leave a crimson stain:
so liquidambar drops a flock of yachts.
I see a sea of gulls stake claims to ground
that dry’s monopolized by kids at sport.
But rain today all plans for playing drowned,
displaying brightest white of birds athwart.
And as I travel homeward with the food,
my wipers dashing raindrops off the glass,
I catch a sight and whimsy sends my mood
to laughing as I let the traffic pass:
a wiper on a silver car, askew,
that tries to sweep the air it’s moving through.