Caught in the Downpour

caught in the downpour

The storm clouds gathered overhead and turned the afternoon to night,
In sagging udders, blue and black, as through the muted shadow light,
Where shafts of yellow drained the colour from the thickly painted road,
We drove beneath the tempest’s hem. “The safest place to be, I’m told
Is in a car when lightning strikes,” I said with some authority.
Then heard the crack shred through the air and echo round eternity,
Its sails catching on the fells, and bouncing back in rifle shots.
“Or so I’m told,” I found myself repeating. “Or perhaps it’s not.”
Then splashes thicker than my thumbs fell smeared across the car’s windscreen.
They gathered in momentum as the lanes around us turned to steam,
The coldness rushing up our legs, the smell of earth caught in its wake.
And in the bonnet-pounding crush I almost stood up on the brakes,
As one almighty deluge struck, a flood of such viscosity,
We couldn’t see outside at all. We stopped there. Dead! And lost at sea,
We hoped that in the waterfall no other cars would rear end
Our own, as lightning tore the clouds, and struck the signpost on the bend.

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22 responses to “Caught in the Downpour

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