Downstream from Here

The sky broke open over the bus stop

and turned the gutter to a fast creek.

I reached for my pocket and missed,

felt the metal slide off my cheek.

They hit the asphalt with a flat ring

and spun toward the iron teeth.

I watched my house keys vanish

into the black gurgle underneath.

A sodden pack of cigarettes

is wedged against the rusted bars,

holding back the runoff and the silt

and the oily rainbow of the cars.