By Rhys Hughes
1: A Cloud Like You
In the sky there is
a cloud that looks
exactly like you.
What should I do?
Climb a tall ladder
to the highest rung
and plant a kiss on
your cumulus lips?
Or just wait below
for you to snow,
then collect your
love in a bucket?
The second option
resists adoption
because cumulus clouds
generally produce
little or no precipitation.
I will choose the ladder
before you pass over
and make me a sadder
meteorologist than
my forecast predicted.
2: Thunder in the Fountains
I have heard thunder
in the mountains many times
but never before in the fountains
of this elegant city.
What a terrible pity
you aren’t here with me
to share the sonic anomaly
and stare at the lightning
under the bubbles.
Together we would jump
into the booming water
and splash among
the fashionable flashes
of implausible weather.
But you are in trouble,
caught in a whirlpool far away,
spinning faster every day
and poking out your tongue
at my unseen concern.
You make me feel like a worm
that never learned
how to keep my sighs inside
instead of a highly qualified
climate researcher.
3: Fog in my Throat
The river fog is thick today
but come what may
I intend to check the barometer
as I do every morning
and scribble down the readings
on potato peelings
because I have run out of paper.
The atmospheric pressure is high,
compressing the air and inhibiting
cloud dispersal: a reversal
of the conditions appertaining
when we resembled kittens:
playful, fluffy and meek,
so long ago, maybe even last week.
It is slowly dawning on me
that you don’t really want romance
with a needy meteorology professor
who can’t afford to buy pants.
I will cover my legs in dough instead
and bake them into bread.
I might never be able to forget
but every step will involve a baguette.
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
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