Finishing with Heaney
My cheek was hit and hit:
pelted and bounced on the road.
When it cleared again
something whipped and knowledgeable
and left me there with my chances.
I made a small hard ball
of burning water running from my hand
just as I make this now
out of the melt of the real thing
smarting into its absence.
To be reckoned with, all the same,
those brats of showers.
The way they refused permission,
Rattling the classroom window
like a ruler across the knuckles,
the way they were perfect first
and then in no time dirty slush …