Hot Pink Raingear

I am sitting on a miniature

Cherry-colored plastic chair

On the porch of our new home

In Portland, Oregon

Which is not on fire

In fact, last night

Rain began to fall

It was the first substantial rain

Of winter and we were all relieved

After the inferno

That had burned through bush and brier

And we sang la da da

Well, the color

The color of the sky

I’d call it Crayola Violet, while

The complex chord of a train

Dopplers in the distance

For everyone to hear

And across

Across the street

A man in hot pink raingear

Sleepwalks his dog in the

Lavish morning quiet

With plastic stuffed in his ear

And we sang la da da

Well, the trucks

Judder down the city block

Young men bobble boxes

Full of almond milk and cell phone chargers

Packed up in the skin of dying trees

Baby, if that ain’t progress

Then what’s it gonna be?