Finnish Tango In The Rain

standing in the rain again in the rain again I stand, next to the Finnish truck driver waiving with a wet newspaper or maybe it's a card deck, hand looks like a duck's beak from the radio "Satumaa" sounds like fruits falling from trees rolling down on the patio to find a man and woman circling each other's bulb like bodies and everyone has forgotten why it rains we are surrounded by tango and dresses and unsteady hands on knee caps, nails tapping on guilt and minds too hazy to recall what a promise feels like drops keep running down my neck I long for a glass of whatever to lean my finger and thoughts against Reijo Taipale will not be leaving the radio anywhere soon, and someone says "we are in a movie, feels like it, right? this is too real to be anything but" no birds are singing anymore wax like birches are standing heavy and empty against the quiet lake where all the horses sometimes used to swim the wooden boards will squeak when I leave.