The Smell After Rain

Pensive afternoon, stormy and grey

Stuck in maths, at the end of the day

Unlike the teacher, the clock ticks

And the students perform arithmatics

By an open window I breathe

And watch the bushes sway and heave

The sigh of heat is broken

Under murmurs of a clouded ocean

Dark spots on a playground's floor

One or two, and then some more

Great thudding drops from heaven descend

Just in time for class to end

Warm and zipped with hood on hair

I care little for a stranger's stare

The best thing in rain is to run

To dance over puddles and skip for fun

Waves of rain fall like curtain

No question of what is (or isn't) certain

My hood is a drum and the rain is a beat

I scuttle and rhythm through my feet

My face is wet and my hands are numb

But I am free from that trivial sum

And as the clouds withdraw

The rhythm pounds no more

Pavement heated by the sun

I know that smell! Freedom!