the rooted matrons across the road,
their russet frills stream, strain,
A child in a red hat walks by,
by his father’s grasp.
Traffic flows against the wind,
propelled by an unnatural force
over tarmac the colour of
a lowering sky.
Perched on a coffee-house stool,
an old woman gazes out the window,
waits for rain.
GM, September 2007