august

cider-apple scent, acrid, overpowering
drifts in the hot, still air
the long afternoon dozes.

we sip summer through straws
and fist jam sandwiches of soft white bread
we freeze time in cubes,
clink it in glasses of weak orange squash
let it melt on the tongue

the earth dries, bleaching colour from grass and hedges
the factory drones beyond the orchard
close at hand
there are bees.