Learn About Rain

by Dixon LaRue

June 23, 2003

The rain falls wet like
sloppery skittles
from the mouth of a
stupid dog.

The beautiful rain,
it coats the trees
like sex lubricant.
But that's where
the rivers come from.

The rain slides down the trees
like sweat down the crack of your ass
and puddles on the ground
where a child could drown
if it were sleeping or hog-tied
or just plain stupid.

Those puddles slink
across the soil like creeping
wet things
to form creeks,
which conspire to form streams
which fuck together into rivers.

Rivers are like a freeway
of water drops,
all the drops cutting each
other off
and screaming profanely.
You can hear them.

But it's not like a freeway
because ducks can't float
on the freeway
or logs or alligators
with frogs on their backs.
Quick! Jump in the hole with the fly!
Where frog sex can occur
and the bonus round is secured.

The rain fills up the ocean and lakes,
but in the roundabout way,
like a drunk peeing on the wall,
instead of in the dixie cup you gave him.
Nature is like that dirty drunk.
That is the lesson.

Milestones

1999: Raoul Dunkin's first play, The Touch of Love, is put on in the commune break room by giggling staff reporters who find it unguarded in Dunkin's desk.

Now Hiring

Park Ranger. Duties include curtailing activities of bears, from large-haired picnic-basket stealing fun-lovin' bears to savage, towering vicious grizzly bears. Encountering bears is unlikely within the office, but your presence should finally shut up bear-phobic Ivana Folger-Balzac.

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