Summer, 1940

Summer swamps the land, the sun imprisons us,

The pen slithers in the examinee's fingers,

And colliding lips of lovers slide on sweat

When, blind, they inherit their tactile world.

Spectacles mist, handveins show blue, the urge to undress

Breeds passion in unexpected places. Barrage balloons

Soar silver in silver ether. Lying on grass,

We watch them, docile monsters, unwind to the zenith.

Drops of that flood out of France, with mud and work

Stained, loll in the trams, drinking their cigarettes,

Their presence defiling the flannels and summer frocks,

The hunters to hound our safety, spoil the summer.