A man and his dog that does not want to go home

On the streets the air is dusty.
Here it is fragrant, in the park
the acacia trees bloom.
Why the nightingale sings already
on a lazy summer afternoon.
I walk through the grass, sandals dangling from my hand.
Sit on the backrest of a shady bench,
watching the man and his dog
that does not want to go home.
I don't like the heat of summer
but I like how the sun takes time away.
Makes nothing matter but this afternoon.
Burns out all thought except those
of cool drinks, clinking with ice
of twinkling waves that wink at you with sparkles,
of a long, long dirt road sizzling beneath,
cooking out all impurities
until you are nothing but a distillate
of all that is sweet.

29-05-2026
#poem