Summer.

There's a sweating, balding man in front.
It's not that I'm offended by his choice to occupy
half of the pavement by holding his elbows up
like some Wild West gunslinger;
I am offended by the fact that he does so
with a hugely knowing and chocolate glued
grin that guns down my patience.

There's a woman stood, with a pram.
The pram must remain side-on with
the pedestrian traffic so that her offspring
might watch us duck and weave;
kayaking through the heat and crowds
in this little seaside paradise which is
long overdue indifference.

There's a jovial family crossing the road.
They move at the pace of a diazepammed
slug that has just realised it really has
no place to be at all;
whilst staring, bemused, at the cars that honk
and the drivers that raise their hands in protest
"Hey! We're walking here".

There are two parents shouting nearby.
I don't know what their children did but
they were dragged to the alley beside my house
so the adults could rabidly declare their disdain;
a small hand is raised and the shouting pauses
before one of the kids urinates besides my garden,
pissing away my patience.