Relentless Rain [Sonnet]

It rains for days on end in this city.
The people peer out under umbrellas.
Nothing 's washed clean; it's soggy & gritty
and brutal as a Kafka novella.

The streets aren't light, but nor are they true dark.
The light isn't absent, just sapped of vim.
The gray that remains is like Fall in Denmark.
Relentless rain is relentlessly grim. 

The gutters are glutted with murk and sludge.
The rushing waters can't sweep it all clean.
All work 's drudgery and all walks a trudge,
and there's no sparkle in the pavement sheen.

Do some "sing in the rain?"  No, they just mock --
their umbrella flipped out and w/ sodden socks.