Luko Paljetak

author Luko Paljetak



Chunk after chunk the drizzle strips the sky

Tearing it down to the earth. What of it?

We’re not better off, nor keener is the sight

Though it’s been a while we’ve had it in the eye.

Nor sharper is the image on the screen our brow

Hides dappled by the drops of brazen rain

Or is it we are spattered on the neck in vain

By a spread-legged dame, a Marilyn

Of sort upskirted by our rattle through the grate?

Nothing else is there but the drizzling spit

Of the rain absorbed in self-pitying.

Then, when you spot a toad just before she

Transforms into a beautiful princess

(Toads, we all know, are as ugly as sin)

Saddle and ride her on the outskirts of

A tale before Basho gets her on a plate,

In you a snail man slowly crawls distress

Leaving behind the slimy trail so fell 

Yet glowing in the dark as it gets thick

Just like the sky unbending to a shout

Or even worse, a curse; that’s what spells out

The rain to you, run home, it says, away

No place like it when snow is in full sway

And a woman hot as a fryer seeks caress

Then all goes well as if it went to hell

In just a single simple rainy day.