Sewer Grate

The rain falters
hesitates and stumbles
as it makes its way down the glass.
A heavy hue of ire
settles over the trees
and the grass
and the water collecting
just along the edge of the curb
emptying into the sewer drain
that swallowed its fair share of buckets
in my youth.
I can recall that time with clarity
rain water filling the insides
of rubber boots,
my yellow rubber raincoat
blocking my peripheral vision,
making the heat stick to my skin.
The sound of rain in the bucket,
the smell of earth and water
and worms is as familiar
as the present.
I think of the sewer drain,
which doubtless would have been
big enough to allow my entrance
into its depths.
A simple slip, a current too strong
and I would find myself tumbling,
screaming for my mother as I plummeted
past the rusted steal, past open air
and into the waters below.
There I would remain, my thin
frame unable to remain afloat,
my body becoming weak,
my arms relenting,
as I slip under the waters
and take a long drink.
Childhood fears never kept me from
playing in the waters.
They haunted my dreams instead
haunted my adult life.
It is easier as a kid to let go of your fear
to move past it in the name of your passion.
So I grab a old coat,
grab a pair of rubber boots
and head to the place
where the runoff collects.
Where the sensations of yesterday are clear
and I get to indulge in the fear of a child
ignoring my inability to face the fears of a adult.
I think of him only a moment,
and of his eyes above the water
slipping underneath
and think of little else save the yellow
bucket in my hands, and the
hidden tears on my eyelids.