chance of rain

frogs fall from the sky so we call our fathers
& ask what we should do. the last time
this happened it was a jupiter summer.
all the planets were bobbing
in the river. we had to temporary
to fish them out. instead the phone lines
sing old frank sinatra songs. i don't know
who that is so all i'm imagining is 
la da di de la da da. the cattle prod
worked well enough to get the sun to stop
talking about politics. the sun believes 
in meeting in the middle. i tell him 
he has spent too long away from the moon.
once you light a rock on fire
it'll start to say wild things. i was told 
it was going to rain but the chance
keeps shrinking & now it's as thin
as a piece of peppermint floss. my father
finally picks up but by the time he does 
it's stopped raining frogs & so he says,
"what frogs?" real rain comes. rain with bolts
& bicycle tires & obelisks. the internet
has been slow all week. if it doesn't speed up
soon i will be left with my own thoughts 
& their manic buzzing. how did people
use to work for hours just to make
cookies? how delicious they must have tasted.
i take the phone cord & i tie it around my wrist
& it's almost like having a god.
my umbrella tears quickly. bullet holes 
& pocket knives. in this kind of storm
the best we can be are bugs. the line goes dead.
my father is molting, i just know he is.
i remember when water held out faces 
like little mirrors. i would try & do 
my makeup in the rain. those times are gone though
or so i'm told. the sun smolders like
an incense cone. smells like onion grass & 
dandelion teeth. 

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