Poetry
When the Rain Ends
It’s quiet when the rain ends,
she said, he said
I like it when it rains.
I saw a homeless man
with bottled spring water,
he said, she said
I saw him catching rain.
A lithograph’s a good impression
for greatness people can’t afford;
but then he sold when he grew bored.
The drops fall silent
on the avenue,
only so much is washed away.
The city’s inside
when it’s raining,
she said
I like it when it rains.
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