You Tell Me I See Things In Black and White

You insist on taking me there
when the world is drained of colour
dusk, a hot day - air close, sky low.
I am gloved with it, covered, sweating
before we're out of the car.
You're slow with your change
at the pay and display. I wouldn't have paid.
I notice how my teeth fit tight together.
'It's an important flight of locks,'
you tell me. I see a magpie. A drop
of devil's blood under his tongue.
I don't tell you, you would spit.
I dont want to see that quivering in the dust
a tiny silvered jelly. Justified
like throwing fruit cores 'for the birds'
like having air con in your Rover.
We pass the Friesians, patiently lifting
their heads. I wish for thunder
great cracks of lightning, rain drops
the size of coins and you not saying
anything about electric fields
the negative, the positive charge
just holding your hat
and living it - gobsmacked
like the rest of us.