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.
Copyright © Gry Christensen | Year Posted 2024
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