I rarely yearn
for childhood days,
but these blue skies
encase me in
a haze of melancholy.
The swelter of
Summer sun in
sweet smelling cars.
Sand falling dry
from pockets and
untangled hair.
That rush of ice-
cold water, from the
wrong tap; always
with the promise
of ‘penny sweets' when
loving, aged hands had
towel-dried behind ears.
I miss the smell of
sun on my arms...
the taste of sea
on my knuckles.
The warmth of copper coins;
leaving circular
designs in the palm of
my hand.