Summer Is For

Summer Is For

Wildflowers crawl

at the edge of the path.

Children paddle.

Some saunter.

Some jog.

School bags bounce

dark half-moons under tired eyes,

the term is nearly done.

Summer is for roses

on time,

full bloom,

fragments of fragrance

left hanging in heat.

It’s for sports day sweat,

handstands in the grass,

daisy chains pulled tight,

then broken.

For “playing out”

until the streetlights

flicker on like bedtime bells.

Ice cream van songs

a jingle that cuts the sky.

Coins heat up

in small cupped palms.

The line,

the call,

the blue-tongue joy.

Sticky teeth and bubble gum

snapped between sentences.

Grey train seats

blur past windows

full of lives

you’ll never live.

People doing the same things,

never mind the mileage.

Still

hard things happen

in heatwaves.

It feels wrong,

doesn’t it?

The sun grinning overhead

while something breaks

quietly

in the background.

Summer is for winners.

Names called.

Memory makers.

Moments that stay.

It’s for stages.

Shifts.

The gentle undoing

of daisy chains

sometimes worn like a crown,

sometimes scattered

in the grass.