Poems by Frumkin and Prose Poems by Goodrich

Poems by Gene Frumkin
    
         

        

The Perfection of Summer Thundershowers

            
               

Every afternoon around 4 o’clock the leaves discover a wind
behind the wind a thunderhead emerges from its hiding-place
The rain pellets the heat’s thick plate
                                                                      Afterward, an hour at most
                                         a few puddles have grown
                                         blue green gold and red
                                                    in a few rutty beds
                                                    in alleys       on the streets
                                                              in craters of grass
                The heat surrounds the puddles
     they form concentric cycles                           
                                                
          

                                                           You as a man within your shelter
watched the preparation for the rain then the rain itself
For a brief time
                             while it rained
                                                               you were happy
The world you live in had changed for the better
                                                                                        You, a critical man
                                                             had been the rain
                                            as you had been the heat

              
                             

                               The rain was perfect and you had lived perfectly
since nothing could have been preferred
                                                                              to the rain
                                           As a critical man
                                                                    at the height of the downpour

(though still a nameless well-concealed lodger)
                                                                                       a flaw
had already found a warm spot in your heart

                                                 Not that the rain would stop
                                    but that it was perfect