|If You Were a Summer's Day (for Claire W)|
If you were a summer’s day
You’d be that certain Saturday
When the sun beats off the tarmac
In the lazy mid-morning,
As people are wandering into town,
And we’re queuing in the traffic
With the windows down and the stereo blaring,
And everyone’s smiling,
As if all their Englishness has left them
And they’ve become Jamaicans for the day.
And teenage misfits everywhere
Have opened up their curtains,
Letting in the light,
And unplugged their headphones,
Throwing wide their windows
To share their precious music with the world.
And in the street the sun beats down,
Investing every object with a magical intensity -
An insect, crawling on the dashboard,
Shimmers iridescent hues of gold and green;
And the sky seems bluer than it’s ever been;
And even the litter on the pavement looks beautiful.
And, by some strange transformation,
The traffic fumes,
Wafting on the warm breeze,
No longer taste like poison,
But rather some heady, mystic incense,
Making us drunk with summer contentment.
On a balcony, a black cat lazily uncurls himself,
Licking his lips as he pads across the hot tiles,
And as I watch, I know that this will be the perfect day -
Warm, and relaxed, and beating with happiness;
And that’s the day that you’d be
If you were a summer’s day.
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