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5 years

by Charlie Morgan

smelling the rain, i grinned. it's coming.
rain, the Ringling Circus coming to town.

light tapping on our shoulders and heads,
scrunching our necks, Mallards on a lake.

bums around here still ask for a dime,
inflation refers to a flat tractor tire.

the crops down, those yet to be planted;
how's ol' Topsy in her bulwarked stall

getting by with that shankpiece attached?
and is she eating right, productive?

i tell Mama, i can smell the rain.
she grins, says yes dear, she too.

smelling Mama, the rain and competing
for a place in her heart and world,

i lean back.
smell Mama's happiness.
smell Jesus in the rain.


by the age of six i wanted to be Errol Flynn.

02/16/2009

Posted on 02/16/2009
Copyright © 2019 Charlie Morgan

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joan Serratelli on 02/16/09 at 05:15 PM

I enjoyed this read- a sweet rememberannce of being young. Vivid imagry enhance this story-like quality piece. Great work!

Posted by Maude Curtis on 04/01/09 at 05:11 PM

Ah yes, being a farmers daughter I too have learned to smell the rain. Nice read thanks for reminding me to keep my head in the clouds. It's prettier there.

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