By the headlights, the rain
sketched its drops hastily
in quick needle strokes
before it smudged the ground.
In the traffic, the buses glistened
with the weather's new coat of paint.
The colors, glum at night
became lustrous under the city lights.
A Porsche careened the highway's
empty pockets, swerving
through the traffic that crawled like a snail.
Unmindful of the slippery wet road, it braved
the police cars parked before the bridge
challenging their sirens to sing "Order"
from the weave of chaos it had left behind.
The bus I rode stopped at the shed
and welcomed new faces
and managed still to wait
for those who hurriedly went.
At the heart of the city, a river
thick with rainwater, bereft of barges
slithered by the banks and the walled borders
moving at its own pace.
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