the Twin towers

It is slowly raining in New York City today, big
drops lazy fall, roll along 42nd street pick up dust,
collide with other drops and become dirty water
that runs down a sewer hole with vertical bars.

Hudson River runs full too, much rain upland,
and New Jersey, where Tony lives, got a drenching
too, Mr. Soprano slouches in his pajamas feels
ancient at 47, and worries about the future

In the City, where the absence of the Twin Towers
is still seen, the Central Park need a good soaking;
a big rat put its snout through the vertical bars,
looks up at the mournful sky and sighs.