I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats all week above Hong Kong,
Dispersing parties, fun, and crowds,
And leaving empty where once t’was throngs
Besides the streets, beneath the trees,
All vacant, rustling in the breeze

This Friday night proved just that fact
That fun would be postponed to date
And Hong Kong did it without tact
Just Boom! And thunderstorms rained black
At home the kids watched “Game of Thrones”
And I answered my ringing phone

“Let’s have some grub,” my friend suggested
To I, who wandered lonely, so
We went to but and were dejected
By torrential storms and rainy blows
The steak was chalky, vegetables coarse
The only thing that was of force
Was pouring rain outside, of course

But we weren’t deterred: to clubs! I cried
We readied our umbrellas just like thus,
And stumbling fro we ran outside
But sadly no matter how we tried,
The rain had got the best of us
Blowing strongly from all sides

To Prive we went—oh wait it’s closed
To California Tower! Just a hole in the ground I see
And all the while rain dripped on my clothes
The sky was crying for all to see
“What’s open!” we screamed out loud, indeed
But all that screamed back was black and rain
So we called it a night and decided to go
Soaked to the bone and chilly, so
We looked to the skies with wild abandon,
And yelled as loudly as we could:

“Just F this rain and the terrible weather!”
“It’s not really fair if you think of it!”
“I preferred the cold months in December!”
“At least we couldn’t expect better!”
“I don’t think I could be much wetter!”
“What did you say?” “Oh just shut up.”

And all the while it rained down hard

Dear reader, you might notice a trend
That while the meter changed, the rest extends—
The point you see is rainy days
Seem never in Hong Kong to go away
Except when you read HK Magazine,
The gloom dissipates, outside: sun beams
It’s mother’s nature of telling you,
“I hate Yalun, his columns too
So every time he writes of me
And complains so very bitterly
About the rain, and soot, and dust
And heat, then get ready for this:
I’ll flip it up, the opposite,
The things he’d never expect me to do
I’ll do! And he’ll look like a moron, yes,
When he’s crying rain! And you feel blessed
Because it’s as perfect as it can be outside
And you’re just happy to be alive
And, lest you forget Yalun’s rain swan song,
Just remember: he’s always wrong

Yalun Tu is a columnist for HK Magazine. You can reach him at yalun.tu@gmail.com or @yaluntu on Twitter.