Gifts of Rain.(Poem)

 
GIFTS OF RAIN 
 
for Stan Sanvel Rubin 
 
   I'd wait for hours under the tin-roofed shelters, 
   head tucked well in from the runnels of warm water 
   coursing down the sides of colonied black umbrellas. 
   Week on week, the monsoon's drenching clamour 
 
   tarred building walls with patchy moss and lichen 
   while bloated pie-dogs floated upside down, 
   along tiny Fiats, fruit-vendors' black-topped baskets 
   in grave procession past the useless traffic lights. 
 
   I'd pick my ...