The humid summer grey really
pisses me off; sunshine or rain
please, none of this indecisive
bullshit – I’ve waited too long
to be disappointed.
Rabbits are wondering
if they ought to have
changed their wardrobes;
sparrows are anxious
in their dust baths;
I crunch around
in the yellow leaves
of a confused oak tree.
A healthy storm is good for the nation’s
temperament but, as a matter of course,
I’d rather not carry an umbrella
in the middle of summer.