Singing in the Rain

I pointed her to the boutique awning

down the street, hoping for a haven

from the downpour, but her impish

grin told me the mind she was in had

little to do with a dash for cover,

and right I was, for only seconds later,

her hair dripping wet in ringlets and

glistening in the streetlamp glare (more

lovely ruin I’d never seen till then, or

since), she took off her heels and bowed

her head to guide her stocking feet to skip

and dance from curb to street and back,

nailing every puddle for splashing in –

christening me, old dry-docked me.

But truth be told her singing of “Singing

in the Rain” was so off-key and lyrics so

badly muffed, I laughed myself to giddiness –

and straight into a potted curbside tree.