.
Drizzle
The leprecauns have made off
With real rain again this summer,
Leaving us a dampening imitation
That lacks the verve and charisma
Of weather's truly political side;
We are in a Republican season,
Spirits sodden and unheeding of either
Misery or joy: not enough pain for one,
Not enough buoyancy for the other.
The wind has died an Independent's death,
Leaving the field to a paltry shower
Infinitely less congenial than the torrents
That once descended from near-forgotten
Machinery rusting deep beneath a platform
Too vacuous to bear the weight
Of speakers with any gravity.
-
David
W. Mitchell
to
David / to
Moongate