a break in the weather
The air is full of salt and souvenirs,
mountains disappear in the rain,
recycled books, caravans, and shells
are the barter, traffic is heavy
at lunch-time turn-offs.
It’s the old-fashioned pressure drop,
even cars drift into the oncoming lane,
‘honest, officer, I didn’t realise’ …
The beer garden is a natural
smelling of wedges and a light hoppy taste,
the hits of the 70s, hey, the 60s,
the sun ain’t gonna shine anymore
until tomorrow’s front, northerlies
over the seaward alps.
You can vouch for the rain,
it’s authentic, cold, not as sticky
as beer, and here’s to the long grey cloud
hiding the sun today, the hole
in the ozone layer that makes the light
clear and slightly lethal
like blue cod in batter and grainy salt
on the chips you’re unwrapping
idling into new year.