What rain, today!
Beneath your umbrella
I count the split-pit-splat
in a time indiscernible to you.
You, with your rhythm,
reading notes over a sheet
of white,
your elf shaped ears
take in music.
They look like mine.
We age everyday.
This November, our hands:
your hands, significantly smooth
and mine with hang nails.
The SS Lucy is below us
imposing its ship shape over
gray river routes.
No umbrellas on its docks.
No one standing,
staring at the rain.
For our birthdays–
let’s swim along starboard,
crawl into stowage, dry off
and sleep.
Next dock
choose our own adventure,
rain or no rain.