As a late afternoon seabreeze <br />rattled the sleepout's louvres, <br />Father sang - <br />'It's illegal, it's immoral, <br />Or it makes you fat ...' <br />The air smelt of sundried seaweed. <br />Our long shadows did <br />crude tableaux on the grass. <br />'Go on, dare ya!' <br />but the girls didn't bite. <br />Overpainted for daylight, <br />Mother sulked in her sundress, <br />swivelling ice <br />with a red-nailed finger. <br />Like a blowfish, <br />our host sucked air <br />to fire-up the barbecue. <br />Father sang on, oblivious. <br />We shared our fourth jug <br />of ice-cubed raspberry cordial, <br />clinking our glasses together. <br />'The future,' I toasted. <br />The other kids just <br />looked at me.<br /><br />Andrew Burke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-holidays-6/
