Shawn McLain

Evening Rain

I tried to count the drops as they fell into my cotton
shirt, was it eight? thirteen? maybe fourteen? Why
does it matter to me now anyways, slouched over

the steering wheel, a bag of groceries in the back seat,
all I can think about is a stomach grumble that starts
to guide my speedometer faster down the streets.

And as lights become lines within droplets, rolling quick
off the windshield to the ground, the sound of tires
no longer touching the pavement is ignored long enough

to make it home again, safe, where my appliances are
silent but awake, always ready to be turned on; my credit
card bills have pre-paved a path to my heart, my life alone.

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