The thunder and lightning

over Bootle at least brings rain

to fill the pot holes on the streets

and roads that criss-cross this Northern town

overshadowed by Liverpool, overshadowed by

Southport, overshadowed by its own historic self

are cleaned and the raging water greets

the Mersey as it scampers

and rushes through drains

as if hiding, running, waiting to ambush

behind closed doors as it keeps a secret

apart between the beauty and beguiling

majesty of one and the faux old and careworn

of the other.