In The Summertime Poem by bryan wallace

Shorts and t-shirts sit unused
In the bottom of my bedroom drawer.
The bottle of factor fifty suntan lotion-
Sits unopened on the dressing room table.
I've check my calendar - yes -
The month of August - yes -
Irish summertime - to the optimist!

Getting ready for a glorious evening walk -
To enjoy the long evening and August sun.
Have I got everything I need?
Better bring the raincoat and umbrella -
Perhaps Wellington boots and a woolly hat.
Very dull, overcast and grey -
Perhaps I need a torch.
Wet grass squelches underfoot,
Wind rustles through the trees,
Already the leaves begin to fall.

Sunday morning dawns.
It just wouldn't be summer,
Without a day at the coast.
Packing the car with those beach essentials -
Windproof jacket and a Thermos flask of soup.
The rain-soaked sand sticks to my shoes
As a gust of wind blows the top of my ice-cream cone.
My skin turns blue as I go for a swim.

I cough and splutter in a cloud of smoke,
As the soaking wet matchbox falls apart -
Rain soaked charcoal is hard to light
Whoever thought a barbecue was a good idea?
I throw the lot in bin -
Fish and chips sitting in the car -
Looking at the sea through misted glass.

I love the Irish summer-time,
Don't you?
Could be so much worse.
It's not as if we get a lot of rain -
Sure it only rains for fifteen minutes,
Every quarter of an hour!