slate grey sky

storm over head 

the edge of a slate grey sky

-where its white-

they'll remain dry 

but below the grey 

he runs, he runs away

from them drops of rain

hard rain

and the noise it makes 

when it hits the concrete

-a thousand tiny smacks-

the smell of

-washed new-

he continues 

running through

the dark-skinned runner

with his crisp slate grey suit 

matching the slate grey sky 

in his ears, those white 

head phones

to cut him off from the present

to drown out the sound

-of water against concrete-

yet there's no where to hide

from fat drops of rain

take the head phones out 

man and you'll gain

much more
from this moment
-concrete and rain-