The Heavy Rain Last Night

the roofs never had
the time to sleep and
in darkness the fingers
of all nails keep
themselves in the
side pockets of
the beams

the rivers rise like
a platform for driftwoods
and leaves and
coconuts in a
fast parade
as a little boy watches
the show

and then
the frogs' hands begin
to clap

the crickets are not
in the mood for
singing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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