Rain

Rain
The whimsical magnanimous
and yet parsimonious
Nature's bounty

I sorely miss it when
green has turned golden even
a starved brown,
when hills go bald
with sudden obscenity
and unwavering certainty
of an exhibitionist in the park

I dream about it when
dry and static-ridden crackling
wintry winds slap my face into
shocked wakefulness

I wallow in it, even if it is
an amateurish drizzle,
a bad-tempered squall
not a world-flattening storm

And I hate it when
I have to walk the city streets
with faecesf floating in six inches
deep puddles that hide
potholes and rusted debris.

Wonder why the web and waft of life's
fabric is always woven with love and hate?
Because we are not on a neutron star?
Or demand and supply rules the cosmos too?
Or....