I was walking with my Brother, my
faraway Mother, and it began to rain down blood.
     We approached my car,
the parking lot was grey and tired and uncrowded.
As these red tears fell against our shoulders, marking our clothes indefinitely, the two of them said blasphemy and I walked on.
"Yes. It's been raining red wine recently."
We looked up to admire it
easy and unskeptical;
my brother's mouth widened. A droplet overpassed my lips. I smelled it, tasted it:
Iron,
Bile.
"It's not wine,"I said.
My brother spit his mouthful out, and he started up explaining us
The horrors of our current climate change.
Chemical rain was coming on now daily.
The clouds and sky purged out the rest of their discolored agony, and I was astounded by its elegance, color.
At least this was something new.