New Poetry - The Warming Symptoms of Sunburn

A rosy Friday afternoon,
Like the glowing symptoms of sunburn.
Excited I reach for a loyal hair band, lip balm,
Your present in crinkled brown paper. Quickly,
Smiling I shut the door – a dull slam,
Yellowing light of the retiring week.
I gain the pavement – steep, unkempt.
On past a place of painfully cheery past times,
All of which you witnessed, none of which you saw.
The clutter and bunching of leafy park trees
Pressing on against the sturdy iron railings
While giving structure, keeping order
They never keep the chubby children
From the relish of the tarmac playground.
Around the round about now, impatiently I shuffle
Through track after track – bored of inner chattering monologue
I anticipate ours.
The penultimate house – still square, still solid
But not yours
The creamy green of two glossy doors
The memory of a great tree stretching to the sky in previous years
Now merged in my mind
– Gone now the giant still holds a presence.
The rubber round button against my finger tip, patiently
I pause – you, always late but always there:
“Tea?”
By Olive Mackintosh