CHARLES HARPER WEBB
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ANGELENOS IN RAIN
We don’t drive well in it, true.
Some feel their way like the blind
in unfamiliar rooms. Others
splash up speedboat-wakes.
The air is full of dots and dashes
that spell s p i n o u t. Cars sizzle
past while raindrops volley down.
Drops smash like bugs into wind-
shields. They splat like spitballs,
but look like popcorn popping
in an asphalt pan. I once survived
a downpour so intense I had to pull
to the road-shoulder and stop dead.
Carol Flanders, Homecoming Queen,
had just confessed to using me
to make her football-player ex
declare his love. She wanted points
for honesty. I wanted her out
of my car, the drops outside
like tears washing gold flecks
of innocence out of my eyes.