There is a follow-on poem to this - published here.....
Bloody Weather
It's that fine rain,
the kind that soaks you through
says Peter, in my head.
I'm unprepared. Unwilling to run
on cobbles preserved
as quaint relief from modernity.
As the rain quickens
they glisten with a mischievous twinkle
that conflicts with a sky
obscured by grey wrapping.
Lights from an empty shop
illuminate bored assistants.
The doorways offer limited cover
and my mood spirals as I
remember the spare raincoat
I keep in the boot of the car
for these occasions.
Distracted, I step
in a puddle, the dirty water
gleefully finding the gap
between shoe and sock.
No market today, which
is for the best perhaps.
The stalls look sad,
quiet and unloved.
Water cascades from their
coloured roofs and
I can feel it running down my neck.
There's a pub - bugger it,
I'm going in. Bloody weather.
Tim Fellows 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment