Poetry

April Showers

I sit, outsider to the scene,

On the corner of Park Avenue pedestrians stand,

Grim and static at ‘Don’t Walk’ signs,

Oblivious to the vertical,

The breakfast jazz, the traffic…

Grey skies open onto the masses below;

Raindrops find those without umbrellas,

Bounce off curbs and into drains.

Nothing remains still.

The streets awash,

I find myself

Thinking back to that day,

How different it was

When rain pelted us in icy blasts.

Walking up the narrow path to the churchyard,

Concrete edifices marred

The landscape. We stood there,

Sinking into muddy ground.

Thinking of how we were going to fill

The obvious void. I still

Remember how I looked down the valley

Towards the city. It bore

No resemblance to before.

Alicia Clow