Aren’t you supposed to glow?” said the storm to the rainbow.
“Weren’t you supposed to go?” said the rainbow with a snort.
“Now with you arching over me from the start.” The clouds cackle, a fresh roll of thunder starts.
“You’re grumbles are getting old, grey beard. I’m the main event. I’m foretold.”
“Nonsense, without my tears you’d be lost.”
“Don’t kid yourself. I materialize in mist and frost.”
“Easily born, easily departed.” The clouds would not be parted.
“More like dearly departed? Don’t get me started.”
“After the storm, at least I’m not gaudy.”
“No, just another sweaty body. I’m the light at the end of the tunnel. The halo. Some may even call me godly. When the soul goes, I’m the rainbow body.”
“Cocksure, but I won’t complain. I’m the parachute all life needs to sustain. Besides, what would any of us be without a little bit of rain?”
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Cover Art: Rachel M. Broadwell
Prompt: A write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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