Lounge Rain
 
After we hung up,
I drove to school in quiet,
listening to the regular rain:
the drops were fingers on drumskin,
swish of the tires a jazzy brush,
windshield wipers beat a muted cadence,
tempo and pacing shifting
around bends and under different clouds;
lowered light, a darkened sky,
and me, mellow and swaying slightly,
somewhere in between a dim-table drink
and driving in the far right lane,
which was not too flooded and, ironically, faster.