Friday Night

It’s Friday night, just gone midnight
And kicking-out time in the town.
As I sit watching from my car,
Deserted pavements teem with life,
And people fill the streets again.

The bearded men from Mosques emerge,
Their Salat done, they’re homeward bound.
While from the pubs the clubbers pour,
Their spirits high as they head off
To taxis waiting in the rain.

On Friday night the cultures cross,
And pass before each other’s eyes,
Invisible, I sit and watch,
This drama, sacred and profane.

© Graeme Williams 2012

Playing In The Rain

The cars splash through the puddles on the road,
And send up waves of water that then wash
Across the children’s feet to screams of joy;
While huddled under our umbrellas, we
Will watch with careful eyes their carefree fun,
And wish that we, though older now, could still
Find joy in standing outside in the cold
As cars splash through the puddles in the rain.

© Graeme Williams 2012

My wife, Chris, recorded a video of my children playing in the rain on her mobile 'phone. It provided the inspiration for the poem.