This body sits alone in silent recall,
the voices, the activity, the monstrous sound
of espresso being ground,
for the hurried and swaggered consumer.
Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges
Steady rain blankets the plaza
And shrouds late afternoon with early night.
A torrential downpour of fine droplets
That deceptively make no sound
Above the wind of the winter typhoon.
Only the plod of boots is heard
As they splash through frigid puddles.
The eyes of gods’ down trodden faces
Hover over their soaked leather soles,