Siamese

I saw them ahead of me

through the gloom and a little distant.

They seemed joined at the hip

and walked as one beneath a small black umbrella.

For some reason the sight of them heartened me.

I tried to remember if I'd ever

walked that way before;

arm round her back, close,

passionate, at eight thirty

in the morning, in the

pouring rain.

Or any time.

It looked to be a cumbersome arrangement

as they made their way along the narrow pavement,

yet preferable somehow

to flying solo.

Closer now and I can hear;

"Gie us the umbrella, gonnae!"

A nasal caw that could scour steel.

"Ah bought that umbrella fur masel, You use yir hood!"

They stop to bicker, hemming me in.

A silent oath is offered for

their self absorbed display

and I work my way to the subway,

reminded and chastened.

To preserve the illusion, one must

Never get too close.