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A Prayer for the Drying

April 28, 2011
Dear wet weather,
please get your shit together
and quit spitting on us, damn damp
tramp. Poet, you’ve grown irrelevant; we are
weary of your rimes. Stop
your unending end-stopped lines.
Perhaps it’s not treasonable
to be so unseasonable, but I say it is
at least unreasonable. I pray:
let us discard sweaters and become
sweaters, the sun hitting on us—
with vernal shyness, yes, but nevertheless:
dryness. Let the cirrus
come near us. Let a tumulus
be built for the altocumulus. Let
the nimbostratus cease to splat us. Let the west
coast roast. Water is clear-
ly boring. Let the old man,
at long long last, awake
from his infernal snoring.
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