There is in our dry times
a rather pointed disappointment
in clouds that hold the color of rain
and yet, again and again,
pass by without raining.
Sometimes, they gather and group,
darkening the sky.
Thunder mocks us;
we flinch at flashes of lightning,
even see the silver shadows
that declare someone else’s fields
are being blessed.
in these weeks of scattered showers
when the rains pass
within a half-mile of brown grass,
those of us whose fields are green
that life is not fair.