Spillover

The clouds broke apart like a seam in a coat,

but I’m stuck on the porch in a house that won't float.

The sky is a bucket that’s dumped on the street,

cooling the steam from the afternoon heat.

The gutter is choked with a thick mat of leaves,

and the water is spilling right under the eaves.

A heavy white curtain is falling so fast,

drowning the yard till the storm has all passed.

A red soda cap is caught in the spin,

circling the hole where the pipe should begin.

It bobs in the whirlpool, a bright little dot,

staying right there in the one place it’s caught.