Exercises in Tolerance

Careful
magnifying glass
you are standing in Bono's shadow
behind the sun
in not flashes
but streaks;
bleach marks across striped tops,
incandescent salmon,
hop lined chain mail smudges of
fickle stability dripping from your shoulders.

You said you wouldn't fall
come jim jams or high water,
all those filled-sink floods we let our toes sit among
were exercises in tolerance
and we both liked the swell,
the drip of lukewarm pasta bits and parts of potato:
a meal we didn't enjoy.
Sometimes you're quicker than the rain.
Sometimes you're treading water walking.