The rain is coming down in thin grey needles

The rain is coming down in thin, grey needles,

and I stopped at the curb because the ground

was doing something beautiful and disgusting.

An oil leak had bloomed in a shallow puddle.

It swirled in neon-pink and toxic-green circles,

a kaleidoscope of filth reflecting the rusted belly

of a delivery truck. It looked like a nebula

trapped in a drain, a heavy, chemical grace.

I stood there until my socks felt damp,

staring at the way the light caught the grime.

Everything is dirty, but if you look at it long enough,

the grease starts to look like something worth saving.