The rain after the reading
Cooled the air, and wouldn’t stop.
It invaded us with its sound.
The heart had to hear the rain drop.
The heart had to hear the poem
In the reading that we gave,
But sensitivity doesn’t help,
Because sensitivity isn’t brave.
The bravery of the brave
Is cowardice in reverse:
Retreating decides to advance.
Rhetoric becomes terse.
The hotel clerk comes outside
To ask, “Has the rain stopped yet?”
The poets, after reading, write
Under the awning—so nothing gets wet.