Work
I wanted to be a rain salesman,
carrying my satchel full of rain from door to door,
selling thunder, selling the way the air feels after a downpour,
but there were no openings in the rain department,
and so they left me dying behind this desk—adding bleeps and subtracting chunks—and I would give a bowl of wild blossoms, some rain, and two shakes of my fist at the sky to be living.
-John Engman
