Shoes squeaking, finger skin frostbitten
Short ebony haircut bobbing earthquake
As he fills himself into my shadow
Decrepit public shed, well worn bus stop
Gurgled greeting, shoving, shouting, calm peace
Take my seat, damp bench, leave brother standing

Rain rides four faces, outside, far from me
Forming veins, channels and exits, swiftly
In rush for concrete sidewalk stopping point
Smiles form themselves, response to tickling

created by a dozen droplets of a storm




©Brandon Webb
2012