For every kid there is a time

When in the mind

All summers are going to last forever

And the stickiness under your arms

In the folds of your skin

Behind your knees

Will remain a part of your life

as much as blowing Raspberry’s on your arm

as much as ice poles that turned your tongue blue or red

seemed so big

you thought they would never end

trying to hide the bored sighs

of another lane of endless countryside

and the same again mile after mile

blank roads and dual carriageways

hiding from the parental glare

whilst sticking to plastic car covered seats

being told not to fidget so much

until finally at night

able to lay out on the back seat

and watch the bright pin pricked sky

until the boy becomes a youth

with all the back beat

of my generation

and the lackadaisical lazy Sunday afternoon

through the crackle and hiss of trying to tune

your transistor to Caroline, Luxembourg or London

until radio is taken over by the man

and pop becomes rock

and the youth grows up

and summers are lazy

in a different kind of way