Becalmed,

Becalmed,

Waiting on the change.

A storm will surely come,

It often has,

Catching us out,

Inappropriately attired

For the weather,

Even though,

You would hope for

Better at this time of year.

The mood is intemperate

The ragged,

Damp air,

Heavy

With the smoke of misfired

Barbecue’s,

Misaligned

Beneath an open window,

Pricking the eyes.

Rain hovers just above

The tree line.

Drifting with the breeze,

This way and that,

A softly rolling sea

At low tide,

It must turn soon.

The hum of passing cars

An endless tidal flow,

Reminiscent of waves,

Breaking.

Tension gathers,

Sausages wait,

Uniformly lined,

Not pricked,

No need

To do that now.

Steak is tenderised

And salad tossed,

Whilst the ribs,

Tickled to be slow cooked

And pre-prepared,

Lie in state,

On an oven proof plate,

Falling off the bone.

Wine is cooled,

The beer is on ice,

Pimm’s fruit cocktails

Ready mixed,

And soon,

Give or take a late

Arrival,

The party will commence.

And if it rains,

There will be

No derring-do,

Ballyhoo,

Or recompense,

Just a move indoors,

It’s common sense.