Six soggy souls on the OTP,
Pink said she’d catch the train – ‘NO’ said DT.
Tandem carving through puddles, we take extra care.
Eyes sting with rain through the hair.
Descending fast, but climbing real slow,
A tandem’s rhythm has its own flow.
Blue’s glasses bespangled, he peers through the haze.
Clothes soaked through, too wet for Café’s
Gear hung under my desk on my cable tray
Hope it dries somewhat before the end of the day.
Pink (and Blue)