Summer Storm



Summer storm


The warm sky grows dark and

I am not aware of myself.

I become blind in the rain

waiting for your train to rumble away.


You’re not even looking at me,

you have put your jam jar glasses on and have

your face deep inside a book

you spent three quarters of an hour choosing

this morning, while your hair,

wet down your back,

made small pools on the floorboards.


I kissed you, as if you were made of cake,

stumbled and became increasingly aware about

how you frighten my mind with your wild ideas and thoughts

about now, yesterday and tomorrow.


I’ll live on Newcastle Brown Ale and Findus crispy pancakes

until you get back, and we buy fruit and cereal again.

and become devoted to trying.