by Yvette Durham

Created on: May 03, 2010

A chorus of drums beat on my car roof.

A waterfall

is the windscreen in watery blur.

Supped breath,

head hung in anticipation of nature’s wrath,

my elbow punches open the door.

I skitter over pools of rain,

like hopscotch,

yet do not escape warm splashes

bouncing into marinate my socks and canvas shoes.

I exhale into the dryness of Home.

Shake off my wet jacket,

made shiny,

leverage off shoes by their heels;

fluent hands peel off clammy socks.

The smell of stagnant rain infused with risen adrenalin emanates from my dank hair,

sculpted to my head and chin in dripping ropes.

Outside a film of searing rain hits the ground,

almost sizzling in its anger.

It pummels on the roof, urgently.

Yet Home is my impenetrable refuge,

thick with comfort.

Later, as my nose swirls through the sweet vapors of hot coco,

I smile into rain as it washes my window,

and slide down into doughy cushions.

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