The rains fell
Washing the street
The city’s tranquil purification
Of accumulated filth
A douche for the gutters
A high colonic for the sewers
To open the intestines of a society
In one grand catharsis
For a few days
The smell of errant urine
Would be absent
And pigeons could roost
Without holding their noses
The reborn world
Fresh as the day of creation
Until God had to cry once more
To solve the problem
That man could not cure