March

it's Monday, it's March
they're calling for thunderstorms
I can hear the lion growling
cars hurry down Burnside
in insulated unconcern
I must brave the roar
skip over the puddles
wishing for insulation
at least for my feet
wonder if a lamb will come
knowing the rain is needed
hoping for a sunbeam
it's always darkest before dawn
sometimes the light is long in coming
I press on, one foot at a time
until the clouds clear