Rain falls on that other City of Angels

Tumescent cumuli

redden the western sky.

Melted by the sun,

the rain waits for an hour,

then dumps a full day’s load

on the heads of shoppers

and commuters headed home,

damp and grateful

for the rain-slick streets,

the weeks of dust slaked

and washed happily gurgling,

down any available drain or hole.

Lightning knits the bosom

of the sky to the terraces

and glassy towers below.

The chrome and jungled yards,

the million-engined city beast,

suckles the monsoon milk

that vanishes before

the midnight clocks have struck

and thirsty dawn returns.