Albert

16

Jazz Rain

As if bullets were striking the walls,
the torrents fall.

As if the windshield was covered with tarp,
the rain harps.

As if the road was a stream,
the water gleams.

As if the sky was at war,
the thunder roars.

But that's ok,
because above the clangor of this Carolina monsoon,
all I hear are those calm jazz tunes.

From Dallas to Durham,
the radio plays em'

As if the storm were applauding them all,
the torrents fall.