an acute sense of release is felt,
bursting through the clouds
drying up standard gray Glasgow sky.
All eyes are cast upwards, those eyes that pry,
when smiles cross faces as clouds slink away
and the gloom is lifted from the day.
This is a common sight in Glasgow, you understand
and in those in restaurant windows,
people previously engaged in intricate conversation,
pipe up about the number of seasons in a one day.
In one such window of a hotel brassiere
(in the middle of Argyle Street)
serious men, with serious action figure faces,
a corporate picture of blacks, browns and beige,
sit like mannequins on display,
eating with a business like intent.
Fifteen feet away a bus stop is thriving with kids,
Laughing and smiling as the watercolour gray is banished
from the day.
In a stroke of apparent genius
one of them runs over,
illicit sunshine smile on his face,
pointing at the men in the window,
with an expression of gall, and mischievous grace.
His friends enquire to his intentions, as he deafly passes comment
on the murky dishes before the models in the window.
With shock and horror, the bald one steps back, startled,
the child starts pointing and making faces of disgust at his hat.
Or so he thinks, as he reaches to his head
Failing to notice the youthful finger pointing at the plate,
“EWWWW!” he says, before jumping back
“That looks disgusting – imagine eating that!”
For a second, a moment of brief embarrassment is felt
before the gallus youth returns to his friends,
and clouds roll over once again.
The bald man, failing to see the humour,
casts his eyes to the sky and says,
in the calmest possible manner,
“I see it’s started to rain again.”