They Call It Stormy Monday Poem by Brian Sonberg

What a perfect place for a puddle
On this dark and stormy night.
This town, new to me, is boastful....
Far too forward about being backward.
No streetlights is all this means tonight.
I hydroplane across from the graveyard;
Find a ditch, grave-deep.
My newest neighbors brought rain covers,
Their fresh tents look crisp and welcoming.
I feel that their cover is wasted while
I have a wet walk from here.
Selfish in this place where self ceases to exist,
I am chilled in my sobriety.
Legacy passed on in name
Through the ages,
Left behind today in tears,
Washed away tonight by rain.