poor stanley
reluctant to go out, understandably
staring at me behaving randomly
dressed like a gore tex survivalist’s fantasy
waving a snorkel, grimacing manfully

(just to explain:
it’s absolutely pouring with rain
at levels Niagara couldn’t sustain
the street a uniquely aquatic domain
Noah on the blower shouting God – not AGAIN!)

so of course – we get wet
wetter than wet
absolutely the wettest yet
if anyone’s been wetter I haven’t met ‘em
and if they say they’ve been wetter well go ahead let ‘em
I’ll tip my dripping hat and forget ‘em

Stanley soaks it up like the finest of sponges
loses a gallon whenever he lunges

I say hello to the people we pass
a floundering flounder, sniffing the seagrass
a dogfish, pollack, mackerel and huss
waiting in line for a number nine bus
which pulls up, driven by an octopus

it’s a very, VERY short walk of course
the shortest walk ever by all reports
we strip in the kitchen down to our shorts
and as I towel him off I can read his thoughts:
What d’ya think I am, a goddamn seahorse?