The rainclouds appear as a puffy silk shelf
from which gray garland cotton balls hang
from the saturated swollen sky
like ribbons of Christmas tree ornaments.
Cracks of thunder crackle with
flashes of lightning streaks that explode,
light up the darkness in flames
like oil and water sizzling in a frying pan.
A spectacle of blue spears
slice the sparkling heavens
illuminate the water-logged particles,
like dancing minstrels parading the engorged highway.
while my dog pissed and shit.
Poetry has the last word.