Curtains that billow
against rain-lashed windowpanes;
that refuse to pin back the clouds,
screw down the sun,
keeping their counsel on the prospect of better things to come.
Interiors mimic the misery out there.
As the grey chill unfolds around a broken down boiler,
runs its fingers along an obsolete heating system,
we smile through chatterng teeth,
wrap ourselves tighter in knits and scarves,
overeat and keep the gas rings on when we're no longer cooking.
Was it only last week that beds were warm
and kisses carried the promise of enduring heat?
shimmy into another layer,
stop myself in the act of switching on an appliance
that may already have burned out beyond repair.