Rain lashing on my cottage windowpanes
Toasting fire flickering in the stove
Lying on my Prussian blue velvet couch
Rare and worn, like my Dales shell-cove.
Hunger forces me to climb outside
Unpeel my cosy hot ancient layer
Water dissects my lashes, hair and skin
Bones taut, ice-cold stiff and bare.
Khaki-moss puddles streak my shoes
Steam hisses in the queue; doors are shut
My fish and chip paper has wet dots
Running and sploshing to my safety hut.
Limbs slack, all floppy and relaxed again
Furnace hot entering paradise once more
While there is the pea-pelting rain noise
I don’t exit that iron-studded door.