TIM SUERMONDT 

So It Goes with Us          

Raining all day—
how fortunate for the gods
that they don’t have to pay
a water bill. In my dry study
I sit among the books to contemplate
my next poem. I try to keep
any mention of rain out of the writing.
I fail; it jumps in without shame
and, in the poem, I try to steer
my flimsy boat out of stormy waves.
The gods looking on don’t help,
but I sense them rooting for me—
close to a sorry for always being difficult,
cheering when we all see dry land. 

 

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