heatwave

it were cracking’t pavements

the sky were chelsea blue

you were sucking cider

from an ice lolly

cos they said it made yer drunk

and we pretended it did

when yer scored a goal

on’t hay coloured pitch

yer mates were hot ‘n sweaty

and their celebrations

trickled down yer back

and salted yer lips

there were standpipes

at end’er sherwood...

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