This is an Indian summer

cool mornings brightening to

burning afternoons where the grass

crackles underfoot & the sky’s high and clear

sporting a huge full moon.

 

I drink the last of the summer wine

while you remember what you forgot to do

how you left me high & dry with the day trippers

burnt like pork & the children tetchy

from sugar.

 

Tonight I’m thinking of you

I watch the horizon bending to the curve of this planet

all of it sky washed blue,

twisting in countless universe’s cradle

& our love seems such a small to do

 

hardly more than swallow’s flutter

or a cloud wisp’s trail

at the end of summer.