St. Patty

rain rain rain rain
the shamrocks
must be waterlogged
on this passionately gray
St. Patty's day.

It's ceaseless
this torrential downpour
on the rooftops drumming

oh, to have recorded the sound of rain if only for a minute
in my memory...

the earth is soaked
but most definitely green
as literally green as attired me

the roast is ready
and if you squint
you can see the leprechauns out dancing
in the middle of the street...

My favorite day of the year.

don't ask why it's that
may be the green
(an excuse to dress
in its every shade)
pinching (who doesn't
like pinching, besides
the one getting pinched?)
rainbows (or the end of
them, anyway)
and four-leaf clovers
(the best luck around)
or perchance it's that my blood
is Irish;
but however
whenever
whatever why,
my spirits today could travel high
up and up to light the sky.

eyelashes

the sound of rain in present memory
the crackle of the radio
and the wavering of streaming thought
hum of an engine
splashing through puddles
warm exchanges
the fist punches
a downpour through glass
the first pad thai
and two loves,
the first unexpected but the latter
already held close and dear
to the heart.
but then also
the burn to those
who are perfectly content
in flaunting what to me
is an absence, while to them
most easily and readily accessible,
although they would never know
they were doing so;
and of course the glares
of those whose eyes cannot
withstand the fluorescent lights;
and those who are
 distasteful (there really is no
other word to describe it);
and most devastating of all
the cold passivity of time
and closeness
in her queenship's acquaintance
(although it should really be
in her regard, as reactions
can of times be bitter.)

No, I should brush it away,
like a clod of mascera off my lashes
but really and truly
I sometimes lose faith in humanity.