Raining Marbles Poem by Rod M.Peters

My wife dropped it on the palm of my hand.
It stared back at me from a lifeless green pupil.
Glass marbles falling down from May skies
Poking holes on suburban rooftops.
Clueless watchmen shuffle along
Deserted streets donning biker's helmets
And mumbling unintelligibly something
About ‘Kingdom come'.
Chubby one collected six in a soap box.
Shows them around proudly; evidence
That the ‘Time of Reckoning' draws near.
Surely, weirder things have been known
To rain from cloudless skies: fish and frogs,
Even golf balls, and then life goes on as usual
Though it makes you wonder…
The Cuban lady down the road
Startled out of her knitting reverie
After two rattled her second-story window.
‘Hmm…', pondered the retired salesman,
Seeing it's tucked underneath a wide-eave.
So much for the ‘raining frog Syndrome'.
More likely a disgruntled neighbour
Shooting his ire away with an air-gun.
Pious Mrs. Oratio however
Will not let prosaic speculation impinge
On her wonder-filled universe:
Mysterious ways are far sexier
Than hideous sociopaths.
Wonders in the heavens
And blood on the earth.
At the end of the day each one sticks
To their beloved assumptions,
That's how it's always been,
And pragmatic ex-salesmen won't ever be swayed
From their air-gun theories
Not even if flying little croakers should land
On their slicked down toupees.