The rain on my windshield,
Being cleared by the wipers,
Like bullets at the glass,
From a watery sniper.
Minor flooding occurs,
I splash through the ponds.
Hidden are the pot holes,
Of which I’m not fond.
This time of year,
The roads are really bad.
Water’s so destructive,
Such power over man.
Once the rain stops,
See the sun’s in the sky.
Will evaporate the rain,
And, the road’s become dry.
Then the pavers can come,
To fix holes and patch.
No more white-knuckle driving,
That’s my steering wheel grasp.