Sunday Rain

I spend my Sunday

enclaved in the bay window

staring out at the empty city streets

the mountain across the bay

from a sea of pillows

stacks of yellowing magazines

float nearby

I rest my tea

on the image of Esalen

one nestled deep

in my heart

The drops start slow

misting the sidewalks

trees glisten

and sway

I startle

sitting upright

to see

the rain

pelting the pain

abrupt

insistent

like the withered man

spitting on the sidewalk

then stiff limbed

stepping

 off the jampacked bus

hobbling

down

a crowded 

Stockton Street

The storm flashed

rain whipping

sideways

slapping the glass

like the weathered

woman's

fish

flip-flopping

in the pink plastic bag

"fresh!"

she exclaimed

with a grey toothed grin

It has been many moons

since I wandered 

Stockton street

Before the white rat

ran in

under our dancing feet

making its nest

beneath wet cardboard boxes

and disregarded red paper

Before the redolence

rose from the street

sweet

dank

familiar

soup

sulfur

and

sewer

I watch

from my window

the vacant 45 bus

carrying on

down the empty street

NaPoWriMo  Day 6

Based on the prompt from April Edition Poets & Writers - to capture a moment in the rain

Photo by Anant Jain on Unsplash