Betting on the Rain

If we don’t have the Paris Accord anymore,

We do have the rain coming down with such force

That no featherless biped dare emerge from the cave

As the feathered ones and the rest of the fauna

Stay tucked in and waiting.

Growing to the steady rhythm of the rain

Are all the potted plants and every wild green thing

Along with the domestic.

Here is a rain forest,

And we are its smallest occupants.

When I take a tentative step onto the deck

To dry the chairs and to swab the floor

That I might expedite my return to this

Breezy wild space,

A chipmunk scutters past my feet,

A sparrow lights on the patio table

And the crows laugh their commentary

On what I think they see down here.

The rain does not engage in politics.

Like Putin, like Trump,

It takes what it wants.

All we can do is watch it happen,

Knowing how small we are.

This is participation

If you’re betting on the rain.