Trapped in puddles

the rain is unbearable.
and so sad. and so melancholic.
chaotic and utterly wonderful.

colour is ripped from the sky
and drowned in the afternoon gloom
by grey storm clouds which hang
like veils over the blue

a kaleidoscope of umbrellas
of all shapes and sizes
do battle with the elements
eyes down, tippy toe stiletto steps

as a windblown umbrella blows by
like wet tumbleweed.

what little surviving light is left,
is trapped in puddles…strangled and dying

indoors, water beats on the roof
and feet tap to the frantic drumming
as kitchens choke with the wet dog smell
of wet dogs shaking and children gaze,
elbows on window sills, at the river
of rain that they’re not allowed out to play in.

i throw another log on the fire.
open a book. pour a glass of amber heat.
at my feet, a cat for company.
curled up in the warmth. in the dry.

and the rain is unbearable.
and so sad. and so melancholic.
chaotic and utterly wonderful.

Advertisements

My Dad

my dad
wasn’t that bad
even with a
leather belt
in his hand,
which he
swung with
gay abandon
at me
and my
sister,
though
he quite
often missed her,
hitting me instead
as she
ran out
to hide
in our caravan.