After the Rain

The gloomy storm brightens drab city streets, leaving mirror puddles on cold black tar cleansing red blood from curbs of violence, fetid odors of stale fomented beer. The sweat of the city evaporates, invading nostrils like a down hill sewer inhaling, a gutter gully gusher. Steam bellows forth in systematic bursts, aborting unwanted vapor pressure in subterranean tunnel caverns from pitted, porous, perforated pipes. The city bathes itself in acid rain scoring concrete, etching brick, eating flesh. This cities' long needed bath is last seen floating away, skimming old power lines toward the next open manhole in its path.