Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

It Rained the Whole Damn Time

Even the trees are drunk:
it is that green here,
that wet, and as much
as you hate to admit it,
it is Pacific Northwest wet;
wet enough so you have to call
your brother and beg your
brother to come and flip
the boat in your backyard over
on its gunwales before
it fills up and ruins
your spring with a Pharaonic
plague of mosquitoes.
That would be fine,
except the trees are drunk
by now and you do not have
a boat in your backyard
and your brother lives
in Japan and you have not
spoken to him in years, even
though he sends you pictures
of his children; children who
have red hair just like he did
when he was a child.
Those fucking trees. Yesterday,
it rained so much you caught
a Western Red Cedar puking
into your trash cans; you took
out an old bike chain
and menaced the thing
until it staggered away,
leaving a pile of needles
that you will never be able
to sweep away. That is how
green it is.
Carl James Grindley grew up on an island on Canada’s pacific coast but now lives and works in the south Bronx. His last book of poetry, Lora and The Dark Lady, was published in 2013 by Ravenna Press.

Categories: Poetry

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