​When it Rained


we would sit with Grandma
in the hall with the door open
to let the sweet air in
to watch the rain
come down hard
and bounce off the sidewalk
to hear the music it made
rushing in the gutters
and sprayed into arcs
by the wheels of passing cars
to see the bright scribbles
of neon lights reflected
and refracted
shimmering up from wet streets
and through sheets of rain
in a fractured dance
with headlights, streetlights
and the sudden intermittent
flash and boom
of lightning white and yellow
sharp as the bite
of pepper on the tongue
a bolt of raw intoxication
in every breath
of bright electric air.