Little rivers are streaming down acres of skin to the ground.

It seems like days have gone by, but it’s just the heat.

The water’s cold and silky slippery, running down the front and back.

It gives you shivers but you’re grateful for that clear sickle over you head.

An ugly oval forms below and spreads in branches all around,

Filling cracks and anthills to the fences.

A tiny creek and built up in the driveway.

All those backwards glances don’t exist for this very second.

You could be swimming in a tube, and launchers stop to watch the sound waves.

They ripple out with every step, every touch and they’re sensitive.

You’d flail your arm in a wild dance, but the houses and yards around would be rained on.

They’re whining, you shouldn’t waste water.

They bitch about the wet mess that you’re making.

Their voices drown out from the splash and flowing.

And your mother storms out asking what you done this time.

And a lake has formed in the backyard.

A sheepish smile from you.