Threesome

As the rain cascades, skidding through
making the sky molten, a seething grey,
the mind awash with thoughts, flooded
in the midst of futurity, three figures
tramp the city streets.

The day's work done, cars glide boat-like
along the rain-soaked road, the fizz of tyres
sounds as the work-stained faces of the masses
pass hurriedly along Oxford Street, umbrellas
like crosiers, leading them forward,
bags strapped over shoulders.

The trio's path leads them through London,
from one rain-soaked alleyway to the next
in search of shelter as the pavement glitters
tantalisingly, like diamonds, fool's gold,
shaking off the gnawing tiredness accumulated.

An hour later, in a shelter, a polystyrene cup of minestrone,
some bread, the stars twinkling overhead,
these three drowse wearily, conversation kept
to a minimum, the moon lurks like a giant eye,
the clouds dispersed, though the damp remains.