Rain at Work

You love to hear the sky in
 tumult, grimly booming
  in the morning overhead.

The rustling curtains
 of showers whipped
  over the trees and roadways,

Spilling through commerce's 
 arteries, washing away
  a few would-be commutes,

Pattering upon the roof,
 and the few times the doors open,
  echoing from the street,

Mixes with the buzzing
 freezer hum drowning
  the consumer pop out.

Hallelujah!
 the peace of white noise,
  a fleeting wave of bliss.

A siren cuts the drone,
 emergencies arising
  from a wet road perhaps.

What's the price of my leisure
 when I'm supposed to be working?

I suppose I should
 prefer them in here to out there
  if it's a question of danger.

Either way work
 will be slow;
  rain rain go away,

Come again another day;
 probably come every day,
  but at least I'm off tomorrow.

I guess that just means I
 can enjoy the rain 
  without getting paid to do it.

We do whatever we do,
 it dwindles to a drizzle,
  the sun swells like business.

People come and go,
 time mercifully quickens,
  sirens continue to travel.

The clock is a sliding scale
 moving from negotiation
  in public to private and back.

A smile is a worthy tool, makes
 things easy; easy things
  don't last long.