Opaque Poem

This fog has been with us forever,
cross-hatched with rain.
Conifers struggle in the wind.
Removal men haul furniture in hi-vis gear

on the other side of the coombe
where wet tarmac reflects high beams.
Cars leave the suburbs.
Soup bubbles on the hob.

I give it a stir. New steam
rises in silence: a constant mist
that, when looked at, is nothing but