Early morning but still night,
thick laden clouds blocking
any vestige of first sunrise,
and the drops pour on Forest Park.
It’s 6:42 a.m., and the rain
erases lane dividers on Skinker
Boulevard, transforming the street
into a river of red taillights
and white headlights.
Intrepid joggers and bikers ignore
the downpour as they move,
glistening in the wet darkness.
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About stlouisisapoem
We live in this poem called St. Louis, a poem we're still writing. It's about history, and art, and politics, and business, buildings and streets, rich and poor, and food (of course), and all of the other things that make this city what it is and what it will become.
We publish poems about St. Louis, and you're invited to contribute via the comments to posts (for now, until we get our communications organized). Send us a link or an email address, and we'll respond.
Help us write the poem that is St. Louis.
Early morning but still night,
stlouisisapoem 