Observations on a Rainy Afternoon.

The bus
waits under the two almond trees;
blossom
like fire frustrated,
writhes round their black limbs.



The sky
oozes fat drops of rain;
someone
opens an umbrella,
yellow, like a street lamp
lit in the late afternoon.



The bus
starts for another city;
black tyres
hiss on the mirror-wet road.



The square is sucked empty of its people.



I sit
alone, at my window,
and note
the rolled umbrella,
black, in a corner of the room.