Washing The Car

It's Sunday afternoon and the sun is shining,
somewhere.
As I reach for my bucket
the clouds are gathering
and I think of that old joke,
Davies the Welsh window cleaner
and his son,
Shammy Davies Junior.

A neighbour emerges and shouts across,
"You can do mine when you've finished".
I gesture in mock humour.
How many times have I heard that before?
Opposite, another comes out,
joining the assembling gloom.
"Looks like rain", he says,
laughing his way round his borders.

Further down the road,
duelling lawnmowers echo in alternation,
interfering with the fifties movie
suffering another screening.

An ice cream van announces its arrival
just round the bend,
and a dog barks its response
as I wipe dry the last damp patch.

The first drops start to fall
just as I'm finished.
Retreating inside, I look through the window
at my splattered car
and think about the joys of work,
tomorrow.