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
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