A Summer Lunch

I sit under a faded cotton awning; its once bright, now ragged stripes fluttering in the lazy salty breeze. A breeze that's stirring up the sea, so that the midday sun reflects off it like a million shattered mirrors. I feel the weight of the heat; less so in the shade, but still enough that crystal beads of condensate roll gently down the outside of my glass; of soft green-yellow Chardonnay. Smoke from slowly burning Olivewood occasionally wafts gently past teasing my palate as languidly I wait. Fresh-grilled sardines appear; their crispy, part-burnt skins encrusted with sea salt flakes; posed elegantly, next to carmine-red tomatoes glistening with yellow-golden oil. I reach up and pluck a lemon from the shade tree overhead its waxy skin warm from the sun. As I squeeze the fruit anticipating the addition of its acidic flavor to the smooth oil and briny fish; rudely, I am interrupted. " Call this fish and chips"? An English accent whines. This Or That, Vol 2 Poetry Contest, placed 5th Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh Date wrote: 03-05-2021