Bad Choice of Footwear

My poor sodden shoes were ill-prepared
for the torrential downpour which would ensare
them entirely in concrete-based currents
the morning of my last expense
of energy this week.

Before the grey calm of dawn,
I sat awake and listened to the soft percussion sounds
that raindrops often make.

Were you awake during dark slumber hours
with the presence of mind to hear
each distinct drumbeat that drowned out
song bird tweets and
played rhythms against vertical glass panes
and overworked storm drains
for the amusement of your dreaming psyche?

I was, and I heard the sky
drop down in singing spheres
on the roof of my house.

Still, I woke before the sun,
not caring to see the slick streets
that shimmered,
nor the raincoat hanging limp in my closet.
     I donned my non-weather proof boots,
     useless against the elements
     in a way only SoCal could love.

And I walked out into the murky day,
for which my poor sodden shoes
were ill-prepared.