The streetlights bled on wet black tar

The streetlights bled on wet black tar,

a quiet, tired street.

I thought, "Not far, not far,"

then felt the sudden heat.

Not heat, but spray, a violent hiss,

from manicured green lawns.

A deluge I could not dismiss,

under indifferent dawns.

Arcs of water, sharp and bright,

drenched the sleeping cars.

Mocking the dry, late night,

under the distant stars.

It wasn't cleansing, not a relief,

just noise and sudden spray.

A brief, wet, harsh belief,

that spoiled the end of day.