Sun

Seeing the sun I slip in to shorts and rush outside, eager to bask, but soon

Cartoon grey clouds

Inch their way across my sun,

Cutting off the heat and all

Loses colour.

Bright becomes dark,

Dull - dangerous?

 

I shift, a breeze starts

And Goosebumbs rise on my legs.

A sigh escapes and I move for a jacket -

 

But as quickly as it taken, my suns escapes it's prison.

 

Colour reappears -

Washed out and faded,

It's given up.

 

The heat on my arms, cheeks,

Legs, sinks in,

Sticky and unrelenting.

 

I shift,

Knock my drink over.

 

A fly lands, contemplates the fizzing liquid.

 

I swat it, and so my sun is taken from me again, like a lover snatched just before a last kiss.

 

With a sigh, I return inside, to relaxed and constant, to the air conditioning and television.

Author's Note

A pretty unpoetic discription of my frustration with the british summer.

Reviews

[Cassidy Mask]

< 3 british summer. i remember times just like this :] xxx