Swivel chair

"Metti lo via." "Cosa?" "Vai fuori!" I sit on the flimsy blue chair Let the wheels spin themselves out the door Spinning, swivelling, wind in my hair as I leave the hard wooden floor A drop falls, running past my ear The clouds making sky no longer clear Droplets cascading, as well as my thoughts The blue fabric of the seat is soaked Clutching the sides swaying like a boat The chair falls over and I'm caked in mud I step back through the door "Allora, c'è pioggia?" I laugh, I look like I've been caught in a flood