The first sound of rain, like kitten purr
Or a fairy wand waved through still air,
A fragile present being wrapped in tissue,
Or a bee, on borage, bumbling, way beyond.
Rain so light it pauses in cobwebs
And catches a ride on a sparrow’s wing.
Then more persistent, like fizz in a glass,
Or an untuned tv, its greyness and buzzing.
Drips cling to the gutter lip, getting long, longer,
Fall on a left-outside chair, plink. plonk ,
The sounds like scattershot explosions
Of sausages sizzling in hot fat.
The rain’s slapping now, Take that! And that!
Like scales thumped on a keyboard at dawn.
Then silence, just a car snarl like a saw through wood
Or the whole world sneering behind my back.
Puddles in shadows glow like sucked buttons.
Puddles in the sun wink to passing soles.
A cicada starts its thrum on the pergola post.
The lawn gasps as surgeon blackbirds drill into it
Then it breaths out and I smell grass and clover.
Next door’s corrugated iron boasts a new sheen.
Like that thrush on that snail shell, I tap my iPad screen.
The passing shower is over.