Summer has been switched off

Oh, it’s cold!
Sixty million summers han sido apagados

I pull the duvet round me
Get up to close the window
But it’s already shut

This happened in Madrid
But only after months of heat

I saw the forecast last night
Lines sweeping down from the North
Carrying cold air and rain

Nine hundred miles south
Two hours from Manchester in better days
I’d watch the forecast in the salon

Each region lingered over
Each synopsis tendered with a smile
I’d smile, too

Madrid: evening thunder storms
You could set your watch by
Clouds piling high in the afternoon
Or no rain at all

Then the continental picture

I’d look for an island in the north
Mostly, it wasn’t there
Lost beneath an arc of cloud

May: Festivo de San Isidro
Patron of Madrid
The Plaza de Toros

Brutal, sure enough
I saw that for myself

Too much blood
But it stays within the Plaza

Here, on this northern rock
We also like to hide our brutality
Keep it behind closed doors

But it doesn’t work

We endure our disappointments
Harden ourselves against the chill
Pretend that everything’s ok

We bury our resentment
And tell ourselves it could be worse