The paneled wall, wood
painted glossy cream,
provides the backdrop to
the running children,
wandering cars clashing
paths with timid honks
of British expectation,
and someone other than
Cindi sings Time After Time
(poorly)
while I balance upon
a wobbly stool,
breeze of a cool bright day
blowing from the kitchen
the flavour of bacon butty
passed my grumbling
stomach as I wait,
glimmers of sunlight strobing
as the clouds allow,
my concentration wavering
on the watersparkle of the
valet centre until my order
comes and the world
clarifies to hunger again.
