Small Rain

It spits
as it sings
of spring. She could start

the season over. Forget
the loud neighbor’s death
threats (sarcastic or not),

a father’s descent
into absolute silence,
a coworker’s suicide

that stings
the skin of all who knew
of him

but never got to know
who he was.

Beneath Her

No chance for nighttime
dreaming—a neighbor’s dance
beat disruptions wreck

any hope
of true REM. Her tolerance

for talking to drunks
has diminished
over a decade in reprieve

till it’s shrunk
to the size of a single shot
of espresso

she’s going to sip
in the morning start-over.