cafe 3

A ‘what the doctor ordered’
bright and early harvest morn
an uncommonly mild sun, its
chic fedora at a tilt, he even
avoided the inevitable God Squad
when strolling down from the summit
olde town square bound toward
a paradise in the form of his preferred
table outside of the nearly French café
Americano served black, no sugar
obligatory ashtray at the ready
broadsheet unfolded ‘just right’
albeit polar opposite politically askew
still, forethought journalists stimulate
Blair’s forthcoming Chilcot dilemma
The scissor cuts awaiting poor Syria
Tomfool Trump’s self-sponsored, no
donors to kowtow ability to express
his ‘probity’ more so than rivals may
The sheer bliss of hard copy news!

Of all the empty tables available they,
the two pretty plastic gals have the
temerity to perch themselves right next
to he who would have it otherwise
‘Why me?’ his passing thought

Excited chit-chat, girly giggles
this and that, periphery drivel
bucket lists, holidays and ‘who to snog’

Train of thought interrupted
his brain begs his ears to go into
Mugabe lock-down, his ears disobey

Now the gals play the game of banal ‘What if?’
Granted a fantasy 24 hours with no travel restrictions
where would they travel; what would they do?
A full English greasy breakfast in Ibeza, daytime taking
in the rays on a beach with a billion other cooked
rhubarb look-a-likes, trance and dance in Magaluf
Fat Tuesday boozing in a place undecided, whispered
desires to spend the night with a hyped up celeb
whose name means nothing to the reluctant listener

Instinctively, now aware that one of the
brace is about to engage him in ‘conversation’
‘Please God no’ his atheist prayer

“What would you do if you had a fantasy day to live out?”

Marginally attracted to the proposition, he dismisses
faraway places with strange sounding names, instead the
transparent, every untamed creature’s delight ‘sex and sustenance’
his unspoken ideal, “Beyond nature’s impossible restraints endless love making with my lover, quaff a case of gifted Château Margaux 1994 whilst scoffing upon rustic bread and ripe French cheese, passage to a dozen previously lost Hemingway novels, plus de sexe s’il vous plaît, all within the confines of a place named ‘Couldn’t Care Less’ so long as seagull’s sing their improbable song in the near distance”
Instead though he blurts a perceptible, “Me? My fantasy wish you say? Don’t know luv…probably get to read my newspaper in peace,” dull silence to the dullest riposte

Euphoria! The pair journey on to someplace else, one mumbles
“Miserable sod” thinking herself out of earshot
A little later, with a smile on his face
he heads back up the hill to where
his lover will no doubt have finished
whatever it was she was doing earlier
and where the gulls sing sea shanties



    1. They really should young Marissa…coffee, newspaper, reasonable temperature outside…the world should leave me alone…mind should have driven down for when I got back I noticed the gull’s had shat all over – and I mean all over – my car!

      1. Well, it’s all karma isn’t it? Anyway, it’s supposed to be good luck, and you know, just the other week, I was going out shopping with a lot of things on my mind and while I was shopping, a lot of those things were resolved. When I came back, there was a rather huge one on the front window of my car. A sign, I think.

      1. Trust the little blighter is recovering…I generally cry when kids are ill…as in ‘why I can’t I take it all away’ crying…older I get it gets worse…guess we are all the same in that regard…except you’re not 110!

  1. I’m quite thankful for these existing bimbo jesters amongst the crowds. Alongside many other excuses granted human life. We would have nothing to laugh & or write about Mike.

    Rhubarb look-alikes. Sensational.

    1. The one thing I am grateful for is that at long last the ‘monotone’ voice is out of favour/fashion…had the pair had that voice then I would, of course, have had to kill them!

      1. Don’t know Daria…the monotone I refer to is at its ‘best’ when receiving a call from a Call Centre I think…sometimes at the doctor’s surgery also (although others there sometimes have the propensity to shout aloud whatever ailment one might be suffering from)…is Daria worth a Google visit?

    1. Cheers Duncan…I took the view the gals sat next to me ruining my morning had not long returned from a package thing to some place I’d never wish to go for cooked rhubarb they were! God I’m a miserable old sod!

      1. one of (the few) advantages of advanced years is one gets to be a curmudgeon and folk make allowances for you instead of givin’ ye a ‘gleska kiss’ 😆

      2. Quite true, when I first knackered my quad muscles (long boring story) I used a stick for a few years and the things an old bastard can get away with when carrying a walking stick was worth the injury.

  2. No! The gulls at it again! One thing I don’t miss there!
    I’ve been wondering why I’m always behind reading your post. It does not appear on my reader. So, now, I’m following you again. Darn lady fingers!

  3. ah Mike, I am as usual torn between focusing all my wits (that would be a half) on your whimsy, contentiousness, side splitting observances…it’s too remarkable. I believe Bukowski might have some second thoughts on his genius.

    1. My thanks yet I’m not fit to tie Charles’s shoelaces…nevertheless that is a fine compliment indeed. I shall admit now this piece is with regards to my cowardice, nothing more!

      1. As an american, please take into account that some things go over my head, but not too many. For example a british friend told me she is “chuffed” , well I had no idea what she was and relieved to find that it means she is happy (pumped up so to speak) in additon I labored over “knackered”, but it is a learning experience. 😀 have a great evening.

    2. By the way…your mention of Bukowski led me to believe you were speaking of todays poem (possibly a glass or two of red too many the cause) and it is thus the cowardice remark is irrelevant to this piece. As of now I shall hide myself away!

    1. Young Rachel you’ve caught me just as I plan to attempt a sleep (on loads of pain killers for the very last of my fall injuries namely a bolloxed shoulder that is giving me grief)…rest assured I shall catch up in the early hours upon awakening…jolly good to have you back and on fire (didn’t mean like Joan of Arc by the way)

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