Monsoon season, br So when comes the rain: br The forest is dying, br Its lost its brain: and 13 people br Read my poems today, br But they didn’t say anything- br They just shrugged and showed me that br They their pockets were empty; br And they went right into the bookstore, br Weeping, br Because I told them that you were serving br Drinks right next door; and you were naked br And beautiful, and Catholic; br And they believed me- They said, br They would have tipped me for the experience, br But I didn’t believe them; br And I parked where I wasn’t supposed to, br And I had a fight after school, br But no one was hurt, because we both left off early br And made love on the swings- I swore br Afterwards never to get into a fight with a girly, br Especially my cousin, br Because her lips were beautiful, even though she was br My cousin, or my second cousin- br And I am not good at baseball, and mathematics don’t br Mean a thing, br And I have to bike home early, because its supposed to br Rain; br And I want to be Vachel Lindsay- I want to know what br Its like to kiss Sarah Teasdale, to hang out around her br Cemetery smoking cigarettes, basking in the heartless urbane; br And I want to be Rupert Brooke; I want to be br Arthur Rimbaud, but I still have both my legs; br And I have to get home early, because its supposed to rain, br But so far she holding out for a man with better promises, br And I haven’t read a thing.