thunder storm

In false warmth of May
Anvil clouds pile up
Eclipse the blue
Cast down hail stones
Lightning spearing the gloom
Basal crashes shaking the old town
Stair rods rattling on the streets

Don picks up his bedroll
Seeks shelter
In the cathedral porch

Jean stumbles to the library
Her mismatched clothes
Selected from chance finds
And what she stuffed into a rucksack
On escaping home

Aaron sweats in his black bin liner
String pulled tight
Around his wasting waist
Half asleep
Half aware
Half under a hedge
His sore feet wet

In coffee shops
Talk of weather percolates
Through the Americano chat
How miserable and on my day off

If only Don had a day off too
And Jean and Aaron
And all the people who a warm dry day
Was all they hoped for this cruel May


CLP 11/05/2023