Trams heaving up West Street.

The extra weight of an ice-cream
Bank Holiday and flecks of blood
Bubbling from the night before

Like some petulant brolly-less kid

Caught in a downpour, stalling
Invisibly at the Swim Inn awning
A bus door opened as the breeze

Hurried past and began to move

At last again the sudden fleeing
Head against a single pulsing blur
Quick begins to move and traffic

Against the shop window glass

Streaming past into distant streets
Like rain sputtered routes, gathered
Watching spent under a step-rest

A sun pulling as the bus trundles

blessing a journey without ticket
Marlboro and the Zippo cloud
End round a cup, hands for cover.