It's not just in Brussels I am sure
Where puddles form in the décor
In corners or splashed down stone steps
A liquid, undefined, collects.
At all times of the day and night
One must tread carefully or one might
Dip inadvertently one's toe
In a rivulet of doubtful flow.
The hordes of tourists may observe
These tiny pools along the kerb
Even when the sun is high
And the forecast remains dry.
An acridity that makes you cough
As sometimes tell-tale odours waft ...
I wonder if you get my meaning
Its presence can be most revealing!
(c) Poet in the woods 2015