which one
is worse:
my vague dread of rain,
or getting
caught in the real thing?
True, of the two, only
one front comes
suddenly,
oblivious to my designs
and my lack
of protection—
only one poisons me
with stings and slaps
of ruthless cold
which seeps
from clammy clothes
to bones.
But still, of the two
my apprehension
costs the larger fee,
since, for all of its
relentless
and savage machinations,
at least the rain
never rains
inside me.
