"The Alley" by Circe Baskin

I walk to the four beat
Down the wet grey concrete
My heavy gold Tim’s tint the clear puddles
And pats of water
Turn my red jacket burgundy.
I think I hear something
behind the ear bud walls
It’s a voice!
But just the voices of the storm.
The street light expands its orange rays
While gold raindrops glisten past its eye
Continuing my foggy journey until I reach clear sky.