When it rains, it pours.
When it rains, it does not pour.
It drips, and drizzles, and mists.
It sits gray and damp and heavy
Without a proper soaking.
There are no absurdly big puddles to dodge
or jump in with both feet.
There are no inverted umbrellas, giving up the ghost,
or real soakers that invite you to scream around outside.
I know that this business of raining, and pouring,
is meant to speak of
too much, overwhelming, piling on,
it’s the constant drip, drip, drip
that feels more likely to