HEATHER JAYNE

Still standing there, shirtless, 

holding a closed umbrella

while waiting for your train

to get pierced by its cries

and your hazel eyes -

Heather Jayne.

Tirelessly staring in one direction, 

brave-hearted clown, 

leaning on my nylon cane,

with boxers soaking wet

more stubborn my intentions are yet - 

Heather Jayne.

Unclear I am as is each raindrop 

hitting my skull

what sort of gain

by being foolish I’ll ever land,

hope you’ll understand -

Heather Jayne.

No, I’m not hiding 

as scores of fingers point at me, 

nor my frozen brain

can see or feel as it badly craves

your lovely face -

Heather Jayne.

Here comes the train 

whistling in, announcing: 

“Her Majesty, Queen of Spain!”

To me you certainly seem like one

as I am breathlessly stunned - 

Heather Jayne.

I’ve never thought in my wildest dreams 

you were as hot!

Also, not minding rain!

Wouldn’t you mind me, o, bella, 

a shirtless man with an umbrella - 

Heather Jayne.

There wet I went wielding my cane

without flowers and the wedding lane

for whistling train and Spanish rain

have never happened nor 

Heather Jayne.