origami

sheets of rain crisply bend over
crumpled by northern breaths and curved around
buddhist temples, curtained by grace pushing
devotees and tourists alike away
scurrying into the dark, their hopes
sitting on the steps where wafts of incense cannot
be quashed by heavy water

where the skyline meets the bustle
a brim of white bubbles covers
the ground, impermeable by the shower
surly salary men surlying
as they stand en-queue for the cheapest umbrella
despite their otherwise comfortable pocket predicament.

at the station, drizzled with inconvenience
high schoolers in their stiff collars with their school girls
prancing about in short skirts unphazed by the
effectively cold conditions burst through
train doors where steamed seats keep tourists and businessmen warm
the only time when grandmothers could care less
who they sit next to, despite their look, their talk
their unreasonably different way of dress
she can find other things to complain about
but it is cold and sheeting