days

 

we complain, a leaden sky

a day of rain, the queue at the till

(when you only wanted milk)

the crowded train, bruised peach

 

and where there is pain –

you, ill –

how I want to be back

in the ordinary

 

walking down the street

hair blowing, jostling with life

or out in the rain,

wet through

​

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Published in The Spectator, 2026