The Pleasure of Sad Music & Rain

After the Homecoming parade

After the hyper smiles stretched across painted faces

And the swiped clean devils

Retreat back into their moneyed facades

No one’s out on Sunday morning

At 7:00 am.

The rain — spitting, cold.

Few leaves on the ground

Curl around their disease spots like cigarette burns concealed in a palm.

The Smiths in my ears — old friends, so good.

Probably the best thing all day;

Almost home.

After summer’s cheerful sunshine

My heart’s hidden sorrow needs a gloomy Sunday morning

And the deer who notice me

Before I see them

Pause, alert in a pack of five

Leap into the denuded woods …

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