The rain smacks the pavement
the way my son pastes pieces
of paper to paper, repeatedly
slapping what won’t shake off—
his hands, crusted with white
flakes of dried glue, wave wildly
at the window where the sky
rids itself of this sopping mess—
like a tired parent, who sighs
and finally sits down, watching
the rinse coat the streets,
the houses, the cars, the trash—
nothing too gross to inspire
restraint, instead, the rain carefully
lifts every piece of litter in its path
to carry it down all the way to curiosity’s end.
