SINGING IN THE RAIN
Every time it rains,
the machinists begin to glance up hopefully
at the roof above their heads and their machines,
staring fondly at the wetspots spreading
across the cork ceiling,
as around the building
raindrops begin to pour down in columns through
the leaky roof.
Around the shop
jump up from their stools with glee
as the first drops hit their head or their machine.
They whip open big sheets of plastic
as if they were bullfighter capes.
They dance with them,
grinning and hooting and tossing them
triumphantly over the tops of their machines,
turning to loudly snap shut the locks on their
and rub their hands together with glee,
having long ago ceased to gripe about Goodstone
Aircraft Co.’s refusal
to fix a roof
that provides them with such a perfect excuse
to go home early.
Poem taken from GUTS No. 9 edited by Fred Voss, 1998