Let It Rain

The dogs pout when it rains.
I like the rain, muscles relax,
first time in months;
what else can I do but
stay inside,
write,
drink,
smoke,
and listen to music:
I have no choice when it rains.
I value the freedom of that loss:
let it rain.

The dogs hate it, and look at me
like I could, and should
stop it.
They want to go outside,
and run
and bark
and feel themselves.
I understand this, but
I am a pharaoh unto them,
and my self is of greater value.
To these I am a sun god, incarnate.
They can not comprehend me
and so heap their
wishes upon me,
in deep want of evidence.
I’ve never made it start
or stop raining
but I have acted in ways
beyond them,
and so they expect me to be capable
of everything beyond them:
Capable of fulfilling their
wishes and wants
and assuming
that I have not already ordered
all things under my authority
so that they suit and please
my will.

I have.
I am pleased.
Let it rain.