the weather's never where you want it to be

the thin rain falls thick,
and turns the clouds above to air
but that will take
forever, dear
by that time they'll be
over there
and dried of rain
way over you
where once-green plains
lie sun-poached, bleached and yellowed out
why does the rain you need soak me?
why do I get your shower clouds?
I'm starving for my sun again
while your poor grasses, flowers wilt
there's no one ordering this march
of soft gray clowns, on lightning stilts
who scatter thick confetti rain
their greasepaint frowns turned down,
their pained and slow and gray procession,
sure and solemn,
- but with the sun on its back!
Way, way up where I can't see it.
Obscured by a vertical mile of gray.

I'd pay to see any inch of sky
to glimpse forbidden blue between forbidding gray
to open up a crack, and catch a ray
I'd catch it on my finger
hold it fast and light,
then pull it taught and use it as a wedge
a lever, an inclined plane,
a simple machine to pry apart
the widening crack,
and dry my skin

I'd be drenched in
the sun I've missed

and you
on the other side of that huge mountain's roll
the bleached side, brown
the dry county
you would love a cleansing soak
to wipe the streaks of dust from your sky
your air, your lungs
and look around
and breathe and see
the world refreshed
boy, does the world ever need it

But,
I get your rain.
While you hog my sun.

The weather's never where you want it to be.