It's Still Life

I Remember Pale Rain

The thistles have gone purple,
spiny and tetchy,
and the cosmos
           (I kid you not)
are taller than the fence.

I long for the scent
of a bonfire and soft rain
that hisses at its embers.

What’s happened to our rain?
Soft English rain.
It was perfumed,

pale and translucent.
Pinkish.
Fragrant.

This stuff is Bangkok rain.
Hard. Heavy. All at once.
Pours from a spigot,
          I swear it does.

Climate change, but
they’re shouting “Hello”
into a blackhole.

Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter   ©Misky 2021