A Day Of Showers Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Under cloudy
stretched wings,
a dusty light
brown air
of the garden,

the couple
fold up their own
darker clouds,

muttering
about flesh
and bones
filling the streets.

Squeaking about
clubs landing
on splayed faces.

(ii)

The wind rolls
on a peregrine
falcon's wheels,

slowing down
only when trees
snivel and sob.

Gusts push
harder through
hanging leaves

and sprayed
swinging branches
shedding drops

and gobs of leaves
from lachrymal
soft pushes
and hard nudges.

(iii)

Under showers
of small flowers
poured by tall
bowing trees,

cream and lace
amaranthus
drops from
air's heavy cheeks,

flow down
in silver streams
and slithering
trickles from

hills and valleys
molded
and pasted on their
flying faces

sitting beneath
their heavy brows
wet with spurts,

as they cling
firmly
to tucked masks
of clouds
spun around them.

(iv)

Under a tree
sprinkling lobster
claws, they see

the blood
of their tears
showered

down to roll
on earth's floor
by a sniveling wind.

But they don't see
the showered
young man

who screamed out
he would die
in his own blood,
as a tulip tree
sprayed red thick gobs
of sticky petals.