It’s a treehouse in the back of a garden

Guarded by two intimidating young boys

Standing just over 4ft tall with plastic swords,

Demanding passwords before entering.

Its toy soldiers and wooden castles,

Battle noises made by innocent mouths,

As we clash our toys against one another.

It’s dolls scattered across the living room

Outfit after outfit neglected and forgotten

After tears over whose turn it is to play “mammy”.

It’s pinkie promises and Chinese whispers

And dreams of becoming actresses and footballers.

It’s an old video camera, taken out

To record a new dance routine to the pop sound

Of Britney Spears or Samantha Mumba.

It’s an inflatable pool in the back garden

And a plastic sheet made into a waterslide

Accidently turned into a mudslide at the end.

It’s an imagination so big everything is real.

The creation of games using no props but our minds,

As we run around the trampoline in circles

Trying to trip one another up just for fun.

Its bruised elbows and scrapped knee’s

And tumbles down that great green hill,

With hands blistered from the monkey bars

And our sunburnt noses and shoulders.

It’s a walk through the forest after annual mass

And skimming stones in the lake,

After teasing that we’d push one another in.


It was everything and nothing all at once,

Repeated actions and games that slowly faded out

Into that nostalgic fog called memory.

It’s summer like it can never be again

Moments forever captured in minds,

Dusty photo albums and now useless video tapes.

It’s memories spread across each of our minds

As we continue to grow and mature,

Despite no longer growing up together.


4 thoughts on “Summer

  1. Oh Len, this was so beautiful. It’s been very long having read from you, and this was like the best piece I could’ve read from you after so long.
    Honestly, this is like the most sad and relatable thing.

    Liked by 1 person

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