What happened to our summer? Who pushed the jet stream away from us, leaving only rain. I’m fed up of having to wear shoes and a raincoat, fed up of getting soaked every time I venture out. My brain is waterlogged, hands and feet cold and damp. How I yearn for the warmth of the sun on my bare skin, sitting outside on a warm night, watching the sun set, drinking cider. Instead, I’m trapped inside, pulling a blanket round me, convincing myself that I don’t need the heating on. Sadly my hands and feet aren’t listening as they turn blue and then numb white.
I’m off to meet a friend in Central London soon and hope it won’t be a repeat of a previous rainy meeting.
pounded the city jungle last night
as we hurried,
heads down, hoods up,
along Charing Cross Road
past the station into Villiers Street.
I wished we could climb
above leaden clouds
to blue skies and sun’s warmth
but the rain kept gushing
rivers over the cobblestones,
soaking through layered clothes,
squelching our feet.
we took refuge in a pub
as we dripped water onto parquet flooring
dreaming of summer sunshine
and heat on bare limbs.