Michael Drummond writes

Metamorphosis on a Lost Rainy Day

The wipers wipe the rain 

Off the bus-wide windshield

Their movements are symmetrical 

Perfectly timed as they pivot

So precisely and simultaneously. 

These two wipers have erotic movements

As would an Indian woman carrying a jug of

water 

On her head, her hips swiveling to absorb 

The instability of her shifting feet 

Walking down the path 

Wherein not a ripple 

Is formed on the surface of her vessel 

These windshield wipers are alive 

Showing but their profiles 

Each with a swiveling head 

Teeth clamped on to the wiper's mid-riff.

Each head has a well placed 

Cobra eye: simple rivets perpetually staring 

At each others' movements and fastened onto

their necks are two steel chop sticks 

Which are perfectly parallel 

Pivoting as they do 

An inch and a half apart 

The animal's ’esophagus’ 

Climbs up the outside chopstick 

A narrow, black rubber hose 

That spits out a chemical mix 

Onto the windshield 

Only to have it wiped away by the blade 

That the cobra fangs fasten themselves onto 

These wipers constantly pivot in and out 

In towards the middle 

Out towards the periphery 

Until the rain passes 

Wherein they come to stand still 

Staring down at each other down 

At the middle of the windshield 

Asleep with their one eye each observing us 

Like a silent, still guard 

Waiting only for the next rainfall

Proposed Colossal Monument for Grant Park, Chicago: Windshield Wiper -- Claes Oldenburg