LUNCH AT LOSSIE
One in red,
one in blue,
chitter chatter, chitter chatter,
no uncomfortable silence,
just relaxing chat,
neatly coiffed hair and
delight that they’ve done their bit
and retired to a life of
nice little lunches,
with neatly pressed creases
in coloured slacks and
sensible flat shoes
that don’t stress aching ankles.
Sharing the bill
til the next time
same time, same place.
A table of four makes less noise,
two generations, awkward silent,
hotching in seats, staring out windows,
watching the rigging dance in the breeze.
Between the two tables I sit and listen,
pretend to be deep in my scrawls across
a battered notepad as I
anticipate succulent white fish
cooked with butter and feel relieved that
I am as I am, alone and able to leave when
it suits, go where I want and do as I please.