poem3

soaked

sopping

cold

and wet

waiting for a bus

to take me to a place

i do not want to go

soaked

sopping

cold

and wet

my clothes are heavy

with a dripping weight

and a puddle forms

beneath where i stand

soaked

sopping

cold

and wet

the currents of a flooded gutter

carries the million ripples

of a billion drops

down the street

soaked

sopping

cold

and wet

and here i will stand

still waiting for a bus,

that is now late,

to take me to a place

i do not want to go