The Summer of 1976

The Summer of 1976

No one told the sun to stop,

so it stayed,

hotter than sense and longer than rules.

The roads shivered with melted tar,

bikes stuck to the pavement,

and we

stuck to each other.

Coke bottles clinked at the corner shop,

cherry lips

chewed on Wham bars.

Kids ran wild with scabby knees,

barefoot,

unbothered,

skin turning brown before dinner.

The sky didn’t blink,

not once.

We lay on dry grass,

talking daft,

making pacts,

swearing we’d never change.

We meant it then.

Hosepipes curled like snakes,

mums yelling to turn them off,

dads’ vests marked in sweat,

radio playing something old,

something golden,

as if even the songs knew

this was a one off.

Sleep came slow and heavy,

windows open,

sheets kicked off,

the moon no cooler than the sun.

We dreamt in heat,

and woke to more.

It wasn’t perfect,

but it belonged to us,

that summer,

with its sunburnt grip,

and time that forgot to move.

Then winter came,

summer had gone,

but heated memories

lingered on and on.

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