So wet,

So wet,

The water pooled at her feet.

Even standing

Beneath an awning,

Surrounded by people yawning,

She was hot under the collar.

Steam rose from damp bodies

And glasses misted over,

As rain fell.

The wind waged war

With itself,

Ripping through

The cracks between buildings,

Tearing up trees.

She imagined,

It could strip

The needles off pines.

Her skin burned,

Pin pricked a thousand times.

Cyclists ignored the warning signs

And splashed on by,

In singlet and shorts.

She watched, as skin slick

With strain and sweat,

They peddled along,

Blown, by wind and rain,

They wobbled

Under the bridge,

To emerge again,

On the far side,

Like pooh sticks.

She counted them,

Praying silently,

Each one made it through,

Nothing else to do,

Until the weather eased.

But it did what it pleased,

So what was the point

In waiting?

She may just as well

Step into the flow,

Brace herself,

And just go.

As stand there all day,

In the gathering grey,

Just to watch the wind blow.