Brass City Walk..

Cross eyed queen of the concrete,;

near where the asphalt 

And the curb meet.

Sitting on her throne 

of granite and concrete, 

three steps up

on the third stoop on your right.

And the sneaker boys

mutter and fill the gutter 

with half smoked butts, 

waiting for the mall doors to open

and buy the latest trophy

bound in colored leather and rubber.

Mist turns to rain...

You can hear them complain,

glancing at enormous watches

in all the colors of the rainbow

and then some.

The sun comes amid the rain, 

a sun shower sparkling,

little rainbows parachuting color
as the fall to earth

and steaming asphalt.

The scent of rain, 

a moist kiss that quenches,

permeates the soul as it drenches

in a quick burst

watering the park benches,

making the brass statues glisten.

And if you take the time to think, 

to truly listen,

to hear the drops of water sizzle

as the cloud burst turns to drizzle

and only small puddles on the concrete

remind yo of the brilliance of the moment...
                 08-04-13