If I could swim in a pool of Vimto I would.
Not the fizzy kind, mind, bubbles give me wind,
but if I saw a pool of still Vimto I’d dive right in.
I’d let the memories of old summers stick to me,
turn my whole body into a satisfied stained smile.
I’d dance with Purple Ronnie and not understand his ruder poems.
I’d stop trying to work out what fruit is in Vimto
and for once just be present and let the juice tickle me.
I’d tell Craig it’s fine if he prefers Ribena and I prefer Vimto.
It really doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure we can stay friends.
I’d wave goodbye to Craig again.

© Carl Burkitt 2019