A bacofoil tickertape of rain
endorses this Saturday lie-in.
That metronomic chrome drip
from off the guttering is back again
shattering against the balcony rail
exploding across my drowsy eyeline.
Mercury droplets slung snug under the rail
wobble and wink as the wind elbows into them
send out their semaphore of flashing silver
disdainful of gravity.