Summer triggers memories

of paddling and orange Quosh,

butties squashed in paper, waxy white,

and leather sandals at the lido

just in case of broken glass.

 

We plough backwards to the past,

furrows made of glory.

It's a double-edged sword

but we have these golden memories

of life-affirming Thermos flasks

and Sunday baths and safety.

 

Summer triggers memories                                                                                  

not always of the bullies

or the sickening September smell

of friendless days and desolation,

waiting for the end of term

to come around again

 

but contentment in a tartan clasp,

seeing the connections made

on mizzled glass;

one sugar for the coffee,

one extra for the flask.

We plough backwards to the past

and trigger warming.