There are no more tolls on Main St. fire hydrants

a promising rain is striking in obdurate absence
like frail honeymooners on tranquilizers and terror
forever in the streets like torrents of misnomers
handed out like wandering weathermen, too soon
to give up on their participation, too ignoble to give rest
to pear cider ablaut salesmen, offering an emotive cure
to speechless monks, on this final day of rest,
from the balcony to the bleachers, they have imitated
their totem of satisfaction, just like a patronage en mess

stay true, honey badgers
and stay mobile, sisters and brothers
on the other side of the forgiving streets
tucked inside your stranger-washed sheets