A LITTLE POEM ABOUT THE RAIN, by John Engman

There is a chance of rain on Minnehaha Avenue.
That’s how a poem should start. But they won’t pay
for little poems about the rain-they want “art.”
Why didn’t you take notes at the poetry workshop?
Don’t say you drove the lonely avenues of rain.
Don’t say rain whispered harsh words to the moon.
Don’t say someone you love has left you nothing
to say but the moon on lonely avenues of rain.
Just put words on paper quickly as the hummingbirds
done by God. Then be happy, you have written a poem.
And maybe you are alone, but it’s early, maybe someone
driving through a chance of rain on Minnehaha Avenue
is thinking of you as she sways through a curve, shudders
into the straightaway and pulls over: killing the engine,
closing her eyes, weeping aloud on the soft shoulder.

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