THE HOUSE BY HIGHWAY 290
The rain is thick in the leaves.
A weak thunder beyond
the slip slap of water
on glass and brick,
a steady run-down in the gutters.
When he installed them, the guy said
he could direct the water
to the flowerbeds, or the concrete
below the walkway. I chose the last,
thinking that the washout
would kill the plants.
Now my shoes get soaked,
and a blackish-green is in the slabs.
Between the AC’s humming
the humid house
lies still. The water
in the weed ridden grass
levels with the street.
The rain that slicks the fence,
darkens the trunk
of the Tallow swaying
heavy with green spikes.
The sun is out.
I hear a buzzing in the walls
behind the kitchen cabinet.
The bees are mad.
From a tree, a brown dove calls.
The potted foliage that someone gave
last year was planted too close
to the wall. It’s a bush now
and lavender clusters bloom. An airplane
from the flying school nearby circles,
the dove staggers its cry.
The house is deafening.
pea river journal 
Awesome imagery! Lovely flow of words!
Thank you Vinita!
No joke on how awesome your imagery is.
Just awesome poetry, I am impressed.
Simply beautiful…love the flow of words from one happening to another…all the best…khala
Thanks for sharing. A lovely expression of life & seasons…my interpretation 🙂