Carousel Blues

[Brownlie]

I only remember summer nights
because that's when rain would pummel my town,
birth steam fogs out of manholes,
create lakes in neighbors' driveways so large--
I couldn't help but stomp, splash,
kick road to the carnival.

I like the first part of this. After stomp you seem to lose the rhythm for a moment in a way that could be good or bad it is a case of two stressed syllables or something like that. My linguistics are iffy. If I had written this piece I would elaborate on the puddles that you loved to splash in they could become an extended metaphor. Not a bad read.