Rain is worst when it falls straight down, when it gives up.
If it wanted to be terrible, to come a storm and fight,
it should have done so.
It should have slapped its wetness against the brick houses
instead of hanging like damp hair.
The rain is depressing me,
like a middle-aged woman who doesn’t take care of herself.
Lift up your damp spirits, I want to say.
But I cried today, too,
so I don’t say anything.
I just sit on my bed and complain about rain.