Heavy hands and heavy hearts

When it rains, I think
This must be Seattle fish markets smell like,
But I wouldn’t know
I’m just an east coast boy
Walking slowly,
So that Pacific time catches up to me

I’ll tell you about my
California dreams
While asking you to ignore
The splish and the splash
of me, trying,
to extricate my legs from thick red mud
Before tomorrow comes
And the kiln of the southern spring
Bakes the ground brick
and I have no choice
but to remain
In my all too familiar surroundings.