Sweaters and Screechers - April 7, 2025

there’s a dark silence after

the downpour ends as the

dog and I walk the bridge

listening to the low mutter

of the current as we cross

two blocks later we hear it

third graders released onto the wet

concrete playground, high-pitched

screams and squeals like a thousand

party horns and noise makers, the high

octave roar has no distinguishable

words, the decibels, concert-like

quickly, we loop the school, head home

the weather has changed her top

from drab lead colors to blue and whites

necklacing a shiny gold medallion

but suddenly pulls a dark gray sweater

over everything and zips up

she’s going to rain again, drive all

those crazy screechers back inside

and with vengeful glee for the peace

and quiet of the world, I sure hope so

though not before our six legs

make it through the front door