Summer Holidays Poem by Andrew Burke

As a late afternoon seabreeze
rattled the sleepout's louvres,
Father sang -
'It's illegal, it's immoral,
Or it makes you fat ...'
The air smelt of sundried seaweed.
Our long shadows did
crude tableaux on the grass.
'Go on, dare ya!'
but the girls didn't bite.
Overpainted for daylight,
Mother sulked in her sundress,
swivelling ice
with a red-nailed finger.
Like a blowfish,
our host sucked air
to fire-up the barbecue.
Father sang on, oblivious.
We shared our fourth jug
of ice-cubed raspberry cordial,
clinking our glasses together.
'The future,' I toasted.
The other kids just
looked at me.