Tea at Charleston
A heavy shower traps me
it bolts me inside the car
under the fry of rain on roof
I am returned to campsites
and useless kagoules
those flimsy foldable coats
The windscreen streams
with hundreds of floods
and another revisit
when I was pressed
to the panes in my bedroom
where
on the wettest of days
the only sport was teasing
the fattening condensation
into vertical rivers
with my breath as mist
I find
the tearoom is closed
Sussex opens on Tuesday