The Rain

The Rain

I was a young child in the backseat
of my dad's old rust ridden car.
Watched the rain on a small town street
as he looked for a guy in the bar.

It usually took an awfully long time,
left alone to while away the hours.
The rain pelted the lonely red stop sign
dust washed from bright sun flowers.

I had time to watch the strange dance
of raindrops on the back window.
I tried to follow them as if in a trance
as they chased each other aglow.

Streetlights reflect off sparkling droplets.
Wondering when dad's coming back
He might have some change in his pockets,
a bribe to keep his secret intact.

So for now I'll just sit right here
and watch the raindrops on the window glass.
While dear dad has another cold beer,
I'll sit til he comes back and dare not sass.

© Copyright 2005 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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