Watering Can

 Raining down love 

and warm feelings

doesn’t grow a person,

doesn’t feed a family,

doesn’t secure a nation,

barely the sound of a single hand

straining to applaud its own 

ingenuity, barely a 

trash bag cut lengthwise for a blanket

in the evening swell of wind, as it rises

like a starlet’s dress over a street grate,

that warm rush of summerish air kissing exposed flesh,

blowing the covering up to the sky and blotting out the moon,

I am so proud of myself

for all I have accomplished

in your names,

I’m just going to give myself a minute

and soak up the goodwill with this unspent rag, saturate it,and 

ring it over the mouths of the thirsty, then wait to be washed clean in their adoration.