when its summer

When its summer

And the sausages almost meet the barbarque

   I sit down back slouched looking at the sky

  Bare skin

  And tongs

  And the coke in the hand

   And the sizzle of the barbarque

   Relaxing

   I smell the crisp meat

   Burning away and the scorching heat making me warm

   And its all sensation as I stand to rotate the mouth watering

   Smells then I think the taste between my teeth and its top notch

   Carelessly I pick them up and shift them to a ice cold plate ready to eat.  

By Tom