by Earl J. Wilcox
It is raining here in Middle America .
Shall I elect to stay indoors today?
There seems little to do on a rainy day
except slosh up and down the driveway,
sip from a puddle now and then, fluff
my beautiful, long hair, slough off
heavy water trickling down my back.
Weighty issues of the day well up before me,
Shall I ask my master for a treat?
Shall I bark feebly at the mottled pooch?
Should I crap in the back yard?
Autumn has come. Winter beckons.
I shall need a long winter’s nap.
Here in Middle America it is raining.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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