Poem with a lemon in IT


The colour of the sun when it sets

Reminds me of the zest that

Coats the sourness of a lemon.


The sourness reminds me of

My current science teacher.

Like the time she’d spilt it down her summer top

And I laughed, it reminded me of an

Hour’s detention. Limewater.


I prefer it in drinks in the summer

Just as I prefer hot drinks in the winter.


If you think I like summer

You’re wrong.

I prefer rain and lemonade on the rocks.


My dislike of summer came,

The first time I saw the weed of


The way they erupted, from the ageing spring grass.

The way they invaded my back garden meadow.

Those lemon weeds had the dangerous stem of

A valentine’s rose,

But the head of a not guilty ripe lemon.

However, if I had left this lemon weed

To the merciless summer sun,

It would’ve ripened to the colour of

A proud tiger’s coat.

And if I had left it to the merciless

Summer sun,

These lemon weeds would’ve excreted

The potent, pungent smell.

But I did not leave the lemon weeds,

To the summer sun,

I uprooted them.

And as I said before,


If you think I like summer

You’re wrong.

Clore Poetry and Literature Award, St Benet Biscop School Bedlington, Writing and Performance

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