The Best Day Ever
God Thunder rolls his black clouds by,
and fearsome the Ninja-like slash of lightning
brings the rain, that which we forties' schoolgirls
caught in buckets to shampoo our hair,
then-- a vinegar rinse. Such purity these
vanished days of natural grace that dare not
erase a woeful world we never thought to live
in, not even the rain can wash away.
And, now the rain comes, its music, its
perfumed aroma, its entry when leaves have
stopped their movements, have climaxed, sit quiet
now in respectful release, even while lightning
still splits the sky, and the great God Thunder
sends me to my knees before his wrath,
benign though it may be, anytime it brings
the poem, it is the best day ever.
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