The attractive woman with the deep voice on the tv
says heavy rain is coming.
I hear it splishing and splashing.
All I can think of is my washing.
It remains on the line
like a forgotten telephone banking customer.
Waiting to be seen to
getting thread-bare, washed out and ever mustier.
And the bike I never ride
remains outside, getting rustier
But the grass gets greener
and friends sit closer
appreciating the warmth inside
as outside gets frostier.