Walker in Rain

Walker in Rain

Puddles on the sidewalk
are puddles in the past.
The rain makes a coastline there.
I stand on the cracked coast of Delancey Street
and wait for a bus over the river
before night falls.
I ride the bus over the bridge
into the rain on the other side
of the river.
Night comes in the rain.
NIght comes planting its lampposts
planting its sidewalks,
planting its solitude in the streets.
Lights shine from doorways,
promising shelter,
promising distance -
the wet red beading of taillights
along highways.
Passersby speak Polish in the rain.
Eyes I catch are Polish eyes.
People hurry home, and i am left
standing like a lamppost in the rain.

-edgar oliver