I make some silly mistake in maths—
‘What were you thinking of, Daniel Malone?’ says Miss McGee.
‘What were you thinking of?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say,
but I do—
I was thinking It’s only three more days.
And I was thinking of how summer smells of mangos
and salt and mouldy towels and suntan stuff;
and of the youch of hot sand on the soles of your dancing feet,
and the cool ooze where the comforting waves wash in.
And of Mum, who fusses about kilojoules and vitamins and things,
saying, ‘Let’s just have fish and chips for tea tonight.’
And I was thinking of going round to Maxi’s place,
and of us lying under the tree in his backyard, watching the sky between the leaves
and not thinking,
just not thinking of anything at all.