Photo Credit: Jasmine Rain Hyder
By Annette Marie Hyder
Bead curtains (strung raindrops)
looking like Christmas lights in their blurry-hurry
hang against my windows, turn and sway with the wind
letting me peek over the looming shoulder
of the storm
(the storm is a bouncer just looking for trouble).
It’s a dark club outside tonight
with techno rhythm rain
and glow stick patterns
made by car taillights.
‘Tornado’ stands at the club entrance —
he’ll stamp your hand
and keep it
as he thunder-mumbles that the drinks
are on the house.
The street’s a dance floor.
I stand back, press my fingertips
against the window glass
touching mini tocsins that pulse
each beat of rain sounding alarums
through the night.
I leave the dancing to the swinging traffic lights
and other weed-whipped things that shake in unison
while the show-off shadows dance alone.