Summer 1991

I learnt that if I sat alone
Cross-legged in my gingham dress
And sanded my palm on the hot,
Silver playground floor,
My hands would smooth
And smell of outside.

Bare knees with barely hair,
It was summer
And we were dreaming
Of ice-cream
While suncream smells
Drifted off those with fairer skin.

The roads were being tarred,
Hot air heavy with the deep
Nostril-filling scent
As marbles were lost and won,
Bouncing the sun back up to our eyes
Which were marbles in return.