Beauty Enough

Two boys on the roof,
The wind fingering their hair,
With relish born perhaps of boredom,
From the leaves and grass.

One crouches on the ground,
Wires in hand,
And other things,
I never cared to learn the use of.

What's needed is done,
To fix the fuzziness of their screen,
To watch football,
(the air smells of wet dirt
And earthworms).

The rains are rushing fast,
Towards the heat laden,
Land of my home,
Where mangos green and firm,
On their branches,
Wait to turn golden sweet,
And on it's way brushes,
The horizon pinkly orange,
In a blend of drowning sun and clouds,
To honour again it's yearly promise.

They'd rather watch football.

In the mind numbing moments of a game,
When a boot is set to thud,
And your toes tingle,
With the sympathetic life of contact,
And then the magic's lost,
In electronic snow,
Imagine the spurt of panic,
Pulling expletives from your mouth.

I might understand,
But think such emotion's wasted.
I'd rather watch the rain.