Black Linen Trousers
Life is good, I smiled complicit,
Passing caravan, after caravan,
Campervan, after top boxed car,
Mile on mile, south.
Oxygen, riding Cornwalls artery,
Life delivering A30.
Emotional lump, goose bumps,
Memories of two years passed.
Frantic calls from family
Were we safe? Had we heard?
The village of Bosscastle
Swept away by floodwater.
The mass exodus then reversed,
A second bite,
We tasted something special,
An appreciation of life’s finer things
Elixir, without price,
Worth the journey for a second slice.
I smiled secretly, knowingly,
The rain making linen trousers
Were hanging out in Cheshire.
“Here they are,” I had shouted
Skyward, hoping to be heard,
“A little sunshine would be nice.”
We returned today, after sunny days
My water butt replenished!
“Why don’t you send those to Africa”?
My husband’s definitely convinced
We had a storm free holiday
Minus the supernatural black linen trousers.
First draft 12/08/06
