Tuesday Evening Poem by Dennis Avery

Late after dinner
on my suburban patio
I stare at the trunk of an old oak
darkened by rain just passed to the west...

a real soaker.

(Canopied flowers drooping under a glut of coarse drops sit stunned)

H2O hangs on everything. Someone hit the mute button on the rustling squirrels
and no dogs bark.

Can't mow.

Can't weed,

plant, or tend anything

until tomorrow.

I think I'll just stay out here until there's no light left
and thank god
for these occasional showers of silence.