Despite my tinnitus
I could hear
the tapping of rain
on the tin roof
outside my window
when I woke this morning.
This is a new world
without springs.
A village of nosy neighbours,
stray cats and lazy dogs.
We move from overcoats
to bare skin across a weekend,
as ants start to make their move.
With each tap this morning,
I recall old English April showers
and, still shivering,
jumping over puddles
to wait for the school bus.
But this is a new world…
and the meaning is not so easily heard.
Another anti-spring poem from here in Thailand, where spring does not exist. And why should it?
1994ever 
I connected with your poem, Shaun. When we lived in Arizona it was hot, and not so hot! 😂
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