Gutter Current

After the storm broke,

the air was clean, spoke

of damp earth and new beginning.

But down the street, a slow, sad spinning

of something. A coffee cup, plastic lid

askew, upside down, half-hid

by wet, dark leaves.

It funneled rain, softly grieves

its purpose, now a makeshift pool.

A small, dark eddy, strangely cool.

The current, grey and fast and keen,

pulled everything towards the unseen

drain. A small world, rushing past,

made beautiful, meant not to last.