Bus stop, early Saturday afternoon

The bus stop is crowded this afternoon. Large men in kilts and rugby shirts wait patiently, beardedly. “Is it going to say dry?” “Aye,I think so. But there’s the cold coming.” They look west.

The couple with the dog in a coat are less patient. He is shaking his head like a cartoon character; she rests her gloved hand on his raincoated arm. “It’s getting colder, isn’t it?” “We wouldn’t be feeling it if we were on the bus.”

A robin fluttery-swoops down towards the shelter then sees the dog and banks away. The bus arrives. It does not look as though there will be room for everyone.

Sleeping with the windows open (Biography Part 1)

Bobby was the kind of boy who slept with the windows open, come hail or ice or snow. On holidays abroad he slept in the wine cellar. His parents took him to see doctors but they could find no fever; he just functioned better in the cold. When he was a teenager he worried about global warming but in Scotland that only seemed to mean more rain and snow. His family and friends thought he would become an Arctic explorer or an ice cream seller; some even had a sweepstake on the job he – or his temperature – would choose. But in the end the universe showed it had a sense of humour. From the day he picked up his first guitar, it was clear – he would be in a band, the coolest band in town.

I sat the sky on the naughty step

I sat the sky on the naughty step

and asked it why it was crying.

But it just sat there shivering and dripping

on the carpet.

Then with a start it took its head out from among its clouds:

“I’m  cold”, it said.


So I thought about the story of the sky and the rain

and anthropomorphising it a little more 

but it was cold and I could not see the point

or the wallpaper through the mist.