Sunday, 29 April 2012

26: First Day of Summer

Two brown leather boots
discarded by the bins, a
paean to springtime, a bench
engraving dedicated to
the memory of winter.

Lest we forget—who am
I kidding? We’ve forgotten
already. One afternoon
prodded by summer’s
oven-warm fingers and

it’s impossible to turn
our cheeks from the canal,
impossible to sit and work
by a wax sealed window.

I’m sorry, I have no credit
for calling in favours from
my brain. I’m sorry, I’ve
become tumbleweed on the
warm tarmac, waltzing.

Too giddy to stop
spinning, too unravelled
to take my mind to the counter
and trade it for beans.

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