I cry when I see Michael, the Archangel standing with two bags
over his shoulder, wet up to his waist leaning into the corner
waiting for the sign to say walk as the cars splash right on past.
It’s almost November but another tropical storm has gushed up
from the Gulf to splatter the pants like paste on the legs of the girls.
Everyone in front of the Day Program door is dripping the rain
on the pavement and their breath smokes the sopping wet air.
The rain is outstretched banner reaching into pockets and bags.
The president (not) has been on T.V. lying again but no matter
how much his nose grows nobody is allowed to say the emperor
has no clothes.
Here the rainy season never ends there it has been a furnace
Bloody Baghdad has body parts for sale. Enron America is a Ponzi scheme
waiting to be uncovered for what it is. The international bankers have us all
in their distant blood red hands.
The rain that falls and
falls like matter in black hole
washes us away.
James Van Looy has been a fixture in Boston’s poetry venues since the 1970s. He is a member of Cosmic Spelunker Theater and has run poetry workshops for Boston area homeless people at Pine Street Inn and St. Francis House since 1992. Van Looy leads the Labyrinth Creative Movement Workshop, which his Labyrinth titled poems are based on. His work appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.