Outside my window
It's raining like hell
On my neighbors orange tree
It's California
In November
And it's finally raining
A real storm
And everyone is thankful
For the gift from crying clouds
That same gift
They don't notice anymore
In Hawaii
Or Florida, where I remember
It rained every day of my vacation at 3:00p.m.
And went unappreciated by everyone but me
They say California is mostly high desert
They say we should treat water like gold now
They say we should have been doing this all along
But, of course, nobody listens because
We always grow careless with what we have
When we think there's plenty
And we live our days
Like there is a never-ending supply
And an abundance of all things
So now I collect the cold water
That gets pushed along
By the hot water slowly crawling
Through the old pipes
as it makes its way to my shower
And last night's dirty highball glass in the sink
And I sprinkle these buckets of gold
On the dying plants in the garden
And give the rest to the dog
On days when there are no crying clouds
Swollen with nature's gold
To wash my neighbors oranges.
Ken Owen Van Niddy Press November 2014
Nice work. I like how it gets back to the personal imagery (greywater, highball glass...) toward the end and then reprises the motif from the first stanza to bring it home. I'm a sucker for orange tree references. -mau
ReplyDeletePersonally I'd rather see it say my green smoothie glass ss then I'd know you were taking better care of yourself.
ReplyDeleteNice poem ken as usual!