Hot Summer Day

The seashells I’ve collected stink,

not one of them is pretty.

My cordial’s too warm to drink,

my sandwiches are gritty.

I’d build a fortress on the shore

but no one here will help.

I won’t go swimming any more

with jelly fish and kelp.

My face is hot, it’s getting pink.

I’ll turn into a peach.

I hate to grizzle, but I think

it’s time to leave the beach!

© Jenny Erlanger

Although I have many positive memories of the many Christmases I spent as a child on the Mornington Peninsula, eating sandwiches on the beach in the middle of summer, with no shade in sight, was not one of them. This poem comes from my volume of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press, 2007)