The river bank ran wild
With the wind’s cries,
As the watercourse smiled its way around
The bend towards the Humber Estuary,
And summer filed another thin return.
But conditions usually fit for sailing in
Were somehow graced with a warmth
Drawn from a different climate;
Heating the torrent with incongruous steam
That kept people attached to the tarmac track.
And those that clung to the top,
Dog walking or pram pushing,
Were cushioned by the sun’s late surge
And fortunate enough to find themselves
Sweltering beneath the sky’s contradictions.
And a final pitch for short sleeves
And bare legs is still likely,
Even as the August Bank Holiday approaches,
As it has been known to glow so brightly at
This time of year and foreshadow an Indian summer.
But over here we’re not dumb enough
To rush too far into that future,
Or take much heed of weatherman’s chart,
We’re just happy not to be blown off
The paths that lacerate the river bank.