I watched a stranger walk in the rain
as if nothing was falling from the sky.
She bounced down the street,
her vest and short shorts drowning,
her flip-flops splish-sploshing,
her sun-cream dripping
down her red raw forearms.
Her smiling teeth were deckchairs
draped in grey cloud towels.
Perhaps it wasn’t raining,
perhaps the sun was finally melting.
Perhaps she was a ghost
given a short window to feel again.

© Carl Burkitt 2020