Like Rain Falling on a Tree

Here’s a game rarely, if ever, played—

Take the back half of a simile,

One you’ve stolen or one you’ve just made,

And take turns turning out the front half.

You know, his anger was refreshing . . .

Their interference proved valuable . . .

And so on. You may choose to allow

Negatives as well as positives.

The quality of mercy is not . . .

You may vote for winners head-to-head

Or come up with your own point system,

Separate categories for surprise,

Aptness, absurdity, gorgeousness,

Or the most convoluted response—

Pulsing maternal arterial

Blood is squirted over the villi

In these spaces rather . . . Anyone

Can sing the tenor part, once you have

Fired up the vehicle; anything

Will serve as a target, provided

The source. There’s an ancient qasīdah

In which a wretched hunter is like

His camel-mare is like a sage grouse

Hunted by a falcon, and that grouse

Hides itself in the reeds of a marsh

Like a calf hiding itself against

Its mother’s side. Think you could walk back

From that? From, like a calf pressed against

Its mother’s flank, to grouse->camel->man?

Every notion that comes to mind is . . .