The Rain
The rain moves in from the east
like Spanish conquistadors
The storm is a movable feast,
comes at you with its full force
You anchor yourself in a lay
on the coast of Chesapeake Bay,
where Annapolis shows off big yachts
owned by people who crave more than lots
My in-laws lived in Baltimore,
6814 Cherokee Drive,
but no one is presently alive,
they do not exist anymore
In Dallas lived Judith and I,
in times since long gone by,
Melody Park on Melody Lane;
a marriage that ended in pain
The rain moves in from the east
on wealthy and those with the least
My diaries are my very best source,
in which I endorse my remorse
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2024-06-29 at 09:40
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