The Dance Class

Yonder, in nonchalance,
the raindrops revel.
Their gracefully relentless,
yet beautifully petered dance,
its divine crescendo,
essence, and pure will,
gets unjustly measured;
pitted against the actors 
in the foreground...
But, ah yes, they all danced.

Seven young women,
two red umbrellas,
three men with no raincoats,
four children with clean slates,
and there… 
My daughter’s priceless game of
hide, seek, stomp, and catch:
Yes, she loves chasing the clouds,
the rain becomes her. 
I’m drenched!

— Leslie

(Poem: It's but divine to join the raindrops in a heavenly dance. I did not. They did... Leaving me drenched and laden with a few lines.)

Office!

The fading,

smudged end of

a reality I found hanging

above me marks the

start of a reality check

that awaits me.

This hell is bright...

but tricky, sticky,

a quagmire of excel sheets;

where the morning dew mixes

with numbers and dust,

to brew the brown slashes

of bitter slush on my face...

they call it coffee here!

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