Sweat & Melt.

Sweat & Melt.
L.M.Robbins 
Tree shade stripes the sweating tarmac,
Like a tiger pelt.
Jogging girls wear sprayed-on lycra,
Breathe hard, red faced and melt.
The ice cream man,
Trawls in his music box van,
Selling cones and lollies galore.
But gives for free to the twins,
Jim and Marie,
Like them, as a kid he was poor.
BBQ’s sizzle in the midday sun,
A preserve for those mad dogs,
And Englishmen.
Meat and veg scent the air:
Sausages, burgers, chicken legs,
Lamb kebabs, chicken wings;
Sweetcorn, peppers, onion rings.
Little hands chalk on pavements and walls,
“Noughts and Crosses,” in crooked scrawls.
Some play “Hopscotch,” Others deftly, skip rope.
Grandma’s challenge them,
Show them how it’s done,
Regress to their childhoods,
Beneath the blazing sun.
Windows ajar, spilling tunes:
Reggae, Pop, Bollywood, Trance;
Soul, Rock, Punk and Dance.
Pretty girls wear sunshine styles,
Dress to impress, collecting smiles.
Boyish men fancy their chances,
But watch too much porn,
To know what romance is.
Football lovers and louts,
Dredge the streets arguing,
Debating who has the best team.
Whilst pasty, armchair experts,
Watch Wimbledon,
Gorging on strawberries and cream.
All are tainted.
Not a breeze to blow.
No cooling of the fevers,
In the summertime glow.