On the Eve of an Era

It’s the eve of an era:
The horizon is charcoal-clear in the twilight.
I see the sun set on my summer lie-ins,
On the sticky-sweet honeysuckle afternoons;
The hours and hours in pyjamas,
My legs stubbornly pallid in denim shorts.
I can feel the sun sinking behind the hills,
A gentle goodbye, for another year,
An elated hello after three seasons’ absence.

No more mid-week late-night Film4 films
No more 1-2-3am bedtimes;
My desk is getting nervous
Conscious of its months and months of redundancy
My pens and pencils have grown sick of artwork
They yearn for exercise books:
musty jotters with the blue-lined pages

School uniform sits proudly on the hangers,
Gleaming in its new-term freshness
Beaming at the prospect of a new adventure
The year itches to shed its summer-skin
Throw out the vest-tops,
Cast out the flip-flops,
Autumn dreams of scarves
and hats and Wellington boots
Heaps of crimson, maroon mast
Perfect for jumping into.

It’s the eve of an era,
I look out to that purpling gloaming sky
And I can already feel the dawn ahead.
The stars wink at me.

Welcome back, September.