Not really a storm,
more like an interval
                       of rain.
Barely committed,
it pitter-patters light conversation,
idle chatter with the wind;
enough to open a floribunda
                       of umbrellas –
to make each of us
an island.  We dissolve
into our thoughts,
side stepping puddles,
oblivious of rainbows.


Tell me, if you will,
who was William Jones?
Not the one who thought up pi,
at least I don’t think it’s that one.
I could  Google (which is not a verb
at all) but why should I?

How is it that I am this old
and never knew of William Jones?
He said, so wrote Randall Jarrell,
and I have no reason to doubt it
for Randall was a right smart fellow
who once wrote in a poem of note

called ‘Next Day’
 that William Jones
had been known to say
is knowing what to overlook
and that’s what I’m talking about.