Atlas of Puddles

By Thomas Page

Have you ever seen an atlas of puddles
Speckle the pavement? An atlas of puddles

My feet are wet to the bone, my socks drenched
And my shoes seemingly soaked, man.
An atlas of puddles

The pavement undulates ever so low
Making deltas in the city plan
An atlas of puddles

The concrete bleeds into the mud and grass
Nature mixing her palette as she can
An atlas of puddles

The people inside watch it pour in sheets;
buckets dumped onto the motorized fan
An atlas of puddles

Draw with your hand ripples in the water
To mark a page in the temporary, an atlas of puddle