Rain falls in torrents.

Water gushes and floods. 

Waves wash over the toes of street lamps, creeping at their shins. 

Cars float like boats down the streets or rest at the bottom like alligators in the mud. 

Houses swallow frothy liquid by the mouthful, their doors wide open and waving like lapping tongues. 

The skirts of mountains slip off under their waterlogged weight. 

They slosh over the roads, burying freight trains and fleeing mini vans. 

This is monsoon season, only it’s the worst storm of the year, of ten years, of six decades. 

The wind shrieks harder in its temper tantrum and the palm trees bend over from it, nearly scratching the ground. 

A trash can learns to fly, a car door as well, and an advertising billboard decides to join. 

They all dance the salsa up in the sky, slicing past the sky rises to unheard music. 

In this weather, it makes it hard to fly a helicopter. 


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