LUNCH
AT LOSSIE
One in
red,
one in
blue,
chitter
chatter, chitter chatter,
friends
forever,
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.
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