the inattention swicks back and forth
like lazy windshield wipers
their slanted eyes and cagey minds set
to move as slow as possible.
But that's what it is to move in Seattle,
You become intimate with the needs of each rainy rhythm.
The sky dribbles
because the seal on that gray horizon never quite snaps shut
like a half-screwed jar quietly wetting your bag
and all of it's contents.
Observe in horror the wrinkled words and blue lines run amok
mourn their passing
and then slowly (over the course of several sunshined afternoons)
drip back into complacency.