Rainy days in suburbia are dull and depressing,

but in New York City they are calm and beautiful.

The City itself shines so bright that on sunny days,

the compounding effect verges on manic.

 

Rain, not just April showers but the

hours-long,

dreary,

torrential-drip

kind

gets into the best-made plans and

best-shopped shoes of New Yorkers

forcing pedestrians and subway-goers alike to

 

STOP

 

curse at the sky,

and come to terms with their own soggy mortality.

There is a unified serenity in the defeat of perfection.

Tags: poetry