Buckets of cold doubt
dampen my pushing sunshine,
until I realize I cannot keep up
with the trains and yellow road lines.
I weave in and out
of puddles that drip voices,
I cannot seem to hold my umbrella
upside down, it just slips like it too
would be better off swimming.
I never chose your communication,
didn't want this tight line
but I am forced to fight for travel time
or someday your immaturity
will engulf my raincoat and handle.
