The tiny river in the gutter
  Flows inexorably  on
   Crossing over two wide streets
    In it’s determined journey to
     The storm drain in the cul de sac.

Rocks impose no barrier;
The river simply flows around,
  Creating little islands in the stream
   That make the water ripple in the sun.

The small end of a cigarette
  Becomes a tiny  boat
    I watch it as it sails along
     On a journey to oblivion.

I follow to the storm drain grate
  Where the falling water makes no sound,
   As it slips quietly down the maw
    To become part of some other flows.

Will it end up at the Waterworks
  To be freshly cleaned and sanitized
   And pumped back through those miles of pipes
    To quench thirst at the kitchen sink

Or will it join the other storm drains  
  Making their winding pilgrimage
   To join the nearby Colorado
     River and begin the trip again.
                                              ljm