It starts with a grey sky.
This goes unnoticed because you are in England;
The sky is always grey.
Then there is the faintest of sounds,
a sort of plopping noise
as if something wet is hitting the ground.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
This too goes unnoticed because
the neighbor’s dog is barking
and there are motorcycles coming down the street
and life is just noisy in general.
You don’t notice the smell, either.
If you did you’d swear you were at a fish market
or by a dock.
You don’t notice, because as it happens,
you are holding your dinner:
But when a fish falls out of the sky
and lands squarely between your feet
Oh yes, you notice.
But only for a moment.
After all, this is England.
The weather will sort itself out.
At last, I breathe life into this blog once more! Sorry for the absence. A long bout of depression caused by losing my job has kept me from writing. But I plan on writing myself out of this depression and starting the blog back up for real. I’ll elaborate on a blog post.
This poem was inspired by this comic by my friend Shane Sheenan, whom I’ve talked about before. If you like the idea of a cloud dropping fish on people, you should check out his adoption page and snatch up English Weather before anyone else can get their hands on the little jerk.