Saturday, 25 February 2017

Wet Weekend Poem

It rains all the time,
and we sit in our white walled houses
staring out at the grey.
We put broken umbrellas to rest like the dead
we're used to washing lines getting wet
naked trees line the landscape
and the kettle boils- for the seventh time
We sip our steaming mugs counting the hours go by
Kids restless underfoot- Can't play outside
Once it stops, will take days before the ground dries out
skies will rain again before then.
So we sit in our central heated homes,
Nothing new you know,
dreaming of a sandy beach
a sun that takes forever to set
Warmth, light- far out of reach
Too scared to move away, too poor to even save
so we just pretend
whilst we sit inside, another wet Weekend

No comments:

Post a Comment