Summer rain.

Summer rain.

There were dark days,

Grey in the memory

Lacking the colour of youth

Which he remembered as a different hue,

Black and white

With a few of Jackson’s trailing red splashes

Thrown in

For cinematic effect

But when the tide was high

A tired body laid low,

His best memories were of the happy

Hours after midnight

Which they spent together,

Closely connected,

In front of an electric fire

Listening to music,

Mouthing the words

Have I told you lately that I love you,

Drinking cheap wine and smoking,

Higher and higher.

There was a grandeur to life’s simplicity

When all young students ever

Seemed to worry about

Was another bottle of Thunderbird and

A packet of twenty Number six.

He cycled down to the all-night garage

For a top up

Squeezing cash money under the slot

Heaven forbid he would ask for something bigger,

The darkness hiding the kerb,

Hitting it full on

Somersaulting the handlebars

Breaking a tooth,

It would need a cap

And spraining a wrist,

His writing hand,

The thesis could wait.

Limping home with his vittles intact

But feeling abashed

Embarrassment curtailed

By his grateful lover,

Soon to be wife,

(When real life, responsibilities

And a career path would intrude)

Who bathed his wounds

Massaged his pride.

The wild rover returned from the front

With sustenance

And an able body, which she knew

Intimately,

As he did hers,

Studied the finer details.

She exhibited the results

Filled out a gallery,

A fine start to a fine art degree.

Even here, so many years on,

As the rain comes down

Washing out the summer colour,

He can paint himself back into a corner

Where so many pictures remain

As clear and bright

As when first painted,

With no airbrush ever needed

To perfect the images,

As fresh today, as ever they were.