The rain is playing
the steel drums on the metal roof of the back porch. In a chair we sit, looking
out the window at nothing in particular. Maybe we think of days when we sat in
the basement of our house as a youth, listened to music and pretended we were
popular. It does not matter anymore. Every river crosses through Dao territory.
Some learn and are the better for it. Some
do not and swim upstream until they are too exhausted to stay above water.
