A Moment Stretched in the Rain
My throat has congealed under pressure, Of water streaming off pavements. A wasteland of abundance, Whose sodden inhabitants have all scuttled Back into umbrellas, mackintoshes, homes. Under the safety of an awning I creep A deluge of sound overhead. With sweat thickened breath Hair slick to the touch I watch the rain- And Its moist hands reach up to caress Me, its lonely acquaintance, In this storm bleached world.
Mirabel Poulson
34