The British Summer

Flip-flops sticking to sweaty feet,
Smoking cigarettes in the heat,
Dashing to hide in shops and malls
As heavy raindrops ponderously fall,
Rivers of dust run in the street.

The beach is more sardine-tin than Arab lands,
Sun cream is so gritty it’s like rubbing in sand,
99 ice-creams that cost £1.20,
It’s clear that this isn’t a “land of plenty,”
Young lovers kick pebbles and hold hands.

Flowers blooming in summer sun
Droop from lack of water, and over-run
With greenfly who silently crawl -
Age or drought will take them all,
And it will all be done.

I love every British season
But summer’s my favourite for obvious reasons
Although it’s not Barbados or St Tropez,
Let’s savour each and every day -
The few that we have in the sun.

Hopeful.