Points of the compass

The cold wind from the north
Blows unreasonably today
Tempering the expectation of summer
And changing plans.

Across the road two lovers kiss
She moves a salted finger across his semi open mouth
His hand that gently rested on her shoulder
Imbued with hopeful purpose
Finger dances down her spine
Inexorably south.

Sunglasses poised forlorn above the brows of tattooed men in shorts
Reflect the disappointing clouds
And those who come from places further east
Think of home and look for friendly faces in the crowds.

When the rain comes as it surely will
We’ll shelter in a cafe with steamed up windows
Drinking sugared tea and hoping for the best
And like the evening sun in mellow brilliance
Trippers scramble to their cars and drift off west

The war memorial at night
Attract the teenage dandies
Like moon shocked moths
They talk too loud
And uniformed constabulary subdue the rumpus
Whilst men who should be tucked up safe at home
Struggle with their moral compass.