Swooping between potholes
we fly through yellowing green fields,
every window down to let the sky in.
Its blue-heat rushes through the car
drying chlorine scented hair,
sun-streaked and tangled.
Making up the words as we go
we create a soundtrack
with help from the radio.
Hands tap along on window-sills,
summer-browned against dirty white duco,
as we travel home
a plume of yellow dust
following like a parade.
1500 January 9th, sans ‘sunroof’
Filed under poem
anotherKate 
I could use some of that summer glee here in the US of A about right now.
We’ve had a week of above 30C, with another week to go before we get a cooler day. But the Earth will turn and then I’ll be missing the sun. 🙂