It is raining paint
Red, Green and Blue
on streets, houses
cats, dogs, and you
It is raining hard
on a mob or a parade
all their flags, banners, rags
are both different and the same
(now it is hard to tell,
who's glad, who's mad
thanks to the paint rain
it is more easy to love)
Trees and bushes
are paintbrushes
the grass below
the canvas, raw
The streets are rivers
of exotic snakes
the cars are turtles
in the parking lot lakes
thunder and lightning
add sound and surprise
to all kinds of rain
painting down at once
Steady paint sets the stage
for heavy paint to come down
freezing rain drops statues
splashing on to the ground
the rain comes and goes
paints roofs, umbrellas
big strokes, tiny drops
it even paints the bugs
a tiny ant leaving
tiny ant footsteps
colored a whitish gray
on a spider's red web
enter the earthworms
crawling above ground
safe from the beaks
of painted ducks
Acid rain at last
like the old paint
at the rusty bottom of a can
fell and they ran
and ran for cover
to somewhere dark
untouched, bland
uniform, dugout
the rain stopped
as all rains do
this painted world
is unreal, old, new.
