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Poem: Dry Rain 

Dry Rain

It’s raining on the graves.
Thomas isn’t thirsty,
But if he were
He’d rather have a beer.

Sara is very dirty.
She’d love a hot shower
With herbal shampoo—
She has a permanent bad hair day.

Gail the baby girl
Is soaking wet,
Not a diaper in sight.
A shame.

God knows
None of them
Will grow
In this earth.

  • Reader-submitted poetry, curated by Phillip Levine.


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