Sunday, 31 August 2008

Under the bridge

After my haircut
rain cools the back of my neck
beats against slumped heads of geraniums
shines the trembling leaves of the creeper
in the dusty cobwebbed wall.

Thunder grumbles in
and a silver downpour.
I run faster than I have for years
feel my shirt sticking to my back.

Under the dark arc of the dripping bridge
I stand within 
a minimalist sound scape
of abstract music. 
Jewel raindrops 
wait to fall from broad blue girders
landing
with sounds like consonants
from a mouth cracked with thirst
long silences between.
A curly brown dog shakes it's coat
into a wayward spinning blur
nails tapping on the flagstones.