“
Now reading
Return to the Front
Sleek cats in sunny doorways . . .
He held the picture in his weary brain
That he might ease his misery and pain,
Forget the swaying lorry and the rain.
The dark was kind at any rate, and yet
It pressed against his eyes. His feet were wet.
He wished that he could light a cigarette.
Sleck cats in sunny doorways . . .
He moved; the water ran along his skin;
He wiped the drops that gathered on his chin.
The road grew rougher and more rain leaked in.