Blues While it's Raining

The war leaks in the head from afar,
speeded by a brand new car.

I can’t work out when it will end,
but it’s no game of let’s pretend.

Tonight the rain is fairly hard:
in rain, in pain, as saith the bard;

and all the way out in the Lakes,
we claim “no nukes is good nukes.”

The rain types on at the window
with fingers frigid, wet, staccato,

then eases off, like war should too,
before the dawn is a wash of blue.

John Tucker

If you have any thoughts about this poem, John Tucker  would like to hear them.