Ithaca Rain
By Alyce Wilson

gets in everywhere; it creeps
between seams, invades
your laundry bag, soups up
on your sleeping gear. Ithaca rain
trickles down your neck, puddles
in your clavicle, seeps down your spine.
Try to evade it, and Ithaca rain
will follow. Try to protect yourself,
Ithaca rain will git ya nohow.
You'll find it under your seat,
in your sandwich, between your toes,
you'll find it floating in your camp stove,
oozing down your eyeball, grooving
on your radio. You'll find Ithaca rain
any darn place it wants to.

But you don't understand. You think
it's out to get you. But it doesn't know
about that. It doesn't know anything.

It's just rain.