Yesterday they carried a flowered parasol,
today a great black umbrella
to fend off raindrops.
The rain has finally come;
our streets and bodies steam
with this slight token of Divine esteem,
drops sizzle when they touch
the parched worker's brow;
spring is in her steps
as she walks to the Green Line:
Today she is a businesswoman from Venezuela,
Yesterday in August heat she cleaned our houses.
*
Once I drove a toxicologist from Bratislava
back to her B&B and she said
we could have the Slovakian minister of environment
fulltime for what we paid our servants.
She thought of staying for a while
to save for her son's tuition. I responded
that she couldn't say servant in America.
*
The report from Budapest
is that the flood walls held;
while the Danube stopped commuter rail
the city remained wade-able.
Fences south of San Diego do not fare so well --
a Mexican flood brings riches to dry California.
In Boston, the young of Bello Horizonte
fall from the sky to serve tables at Louis'
or the counter of Brookline Dunkin Donuts.
I wear my football shirt to thunderous applause.
*
Boy and girl stroll about the pond,
arms around one another, loosely.
They ask me to take their photo,
show me the button to push
and I frame them against
a victory garden replete with flowers.
He is a new student,
she arrived from Korea yesterday.
Lovers, outside of time, wild geese
with no though of the long trip south
tomorrow.
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