Out of Bounds

The rain is a gray sheet on the glass.

The wiper blades are tired and slow.

I watch the metal frame begin to pass,

having nowhere in particular to go.

It catches the wind and starts to drift,

coasting down the asphalt’s easy lean.

A wet list stuck in the plastic rift,

asking for lemons and some gasoline.

It hits the curb with a hollow thud,

abandoned in the rising flood.