Mr. Cloud decided to wring
his scarf from the rain
accidentally serving mini cocktails
to the senior yellow blades of grass.

The trees undressed themselves
leaving just a leaf here and there
which the evergreens
felt was scandalous and obscene.

The buildings pressed themselves
to the gray sky and posed
like vain teenagers do
showing off their Christmas lights.

And Time bought a new organizer
which he calmly filled in
with a muddy, sharpened stick,
sitting with his legs crossed on a wet bench.