West End, Newcastle

Outside, I step aside to let a harassed mother,
with a fractious child, by – rain drives
my hair to hang in rats’ tails.
A Volvo tanks along
and soaks my leggings.
I squelch back home.
Damp coldness greets me,
marks my threshold. I have red wine;
my first, after weeks of riding on the wagon,
dry. Warming up, I drain a glass, solace lost.

Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon