A letter to the summer sun

I once called a train guard the worst word
I could have possibly called him when he shut
the door at departure time and didn’t let me on.
I bought him a Twix in my one hour wait
to apologise but I think about it most days.
I once slammed a 4am kebab shop door shut
when the man told me they had no chips.
I think about it most days.
I’ve lost count how many times I’ve tutted
into the eyes of a stranger behind a bar
when I’m 10 seconds late for last orders.
I think about each tut most days.
I don’t want to shout at the sky and wish you were a snow flake sent to tuck me
into bed and relax my skin with a lullaby
because you’re only doing your job
and I’ve got too much to think about.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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