With Billy on the balcony

 

This season we aren’t going anywhere

no Almora, nope, not even Darjeeling

and certainly no quaint cobbled foreign square.

There’s rain. Coffee. The hibiscus is blooming.

 

How pleasant it is to avoid all hill towns –

I have the poetry of Billy Collins.

No need to trudge, out of breath, up and down.

Home with coffee. And the sound of the rain falling.

 

No urge to charge in to ancient monasteries,

marvel round eyed at gold icons and things.

Here’s the flamboyant. And the frangipanis.

A rain soaked bedraggled bird that still sings.

 

And Billy points out that Bologna and Rome

aren’t a patch on rain and coffee at home.