The Catch

The sky finally broke its fever, dumping

an inch of gray wash over the shingles.

Now the street is a series of small, frantic rivers

carrying the neighborhood's debris toward the corner.

A neighbor’s filterless cigarette butt

and a pink lottery ticket, soaked into a pulp,

spin in a violent little circle

before the iron grate swallows them whole.

I stand at the curb, watching an oily rainbow

shimmer on the surface of a black puddle.

It looks like a spilled secret, beautiful and toxic,

sliding away before I can figure out

what it was trying to tell me.