From the moderate midday blustery chill to the daylight saving month of may, summertime untucked from the clouds and awoke to its purpose brightly.
No more semi phantom rays.
Under the influence of it's outdoor boom a volley of bodies descend to the parks like amphibians first foray onto drier land. Summer time has changed the bedding
into a thinly threaded medley of cloth
that breath, with prints or without sleeves
and shorts folded above the knee or just below
so summer time could fall reflective
on bare flesh and perch like armour on bold heads.
Naturally, on one of summertimes earlier numbers,
a chronic bather springs alert and says,
'Wait! This heatwave began too soon,
like mocking the dead at the wake.'
Thereupon the jinx – summertime's glow undid itself.
August's sun became a nosey neighbour whom now and then,
peeped through dove grey venetian blinds. Morning's clear skies brought cunning signs of cool, nude shoulders became clotheslines hanging jumpers to split the difference...
and our quiet forecast was for the wind and the rain
to discomfort carnival – become the bow tie on a younger me back in the day. When Sunday came. Like,
'oh, my god. Church again...'
by chima nsoedo