That It Was Mine Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The rains are finally coming:
I can hear them coming so softly like a mute and polite sorority:
Listen to them footstep through the leaves,
And cast their little sadness atop the roof of cars,
But once they get here it won’t seem to matter
That I don’t have any airconditioning,
For it will be as if my entire house was flooded with their cheer:
And Alma’s house some streets over,
Why didn’t I some nights ago walk over there and sleep on Alma’s neighbor’s
Roof, while I tried to listen to Alma’s love making so that I could
Pretend that it was mine.