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One of
Seven.
Eating the food that is given to me,
Fills me up and then I see,
Another’s plate which is full to the brim,
I push mine aside and take his from him,
Stuffing my mouth with the food from his plate.
I glance up momentarily and see ire in his face,
He looks at me seemingly cool and calm,
I say “Are you OK?” then he hits me full palm.
Taken aback I stand up from my seat,
Then I spot his wife’s plate with a nice side of beef,
Pinching it quickly I fill my mouth
And to my astonishment they both start to shout.
What’s their problem? They weren’t eating it.
And the next thing I know, I see stars, I’ve been hit.
Taken aback for the second time today,
I’m about to respond, then I see the satay,
From their daughters plate I take the food,
And they look on agog as if I’m being so rude.
Next thing I know the waiter’s been called
They’ve asked to remove me, I’m taken out through the
hall.
As I’m leaving I begin to see,
That I must be suffering from the condition; gluttony.
A place...
Granite strewn,
Moss and fern,
Tors and hills,
Through which dawn mist is drawn.
Cliff to sea’s reach,
Beach in the morn,
Flotsam and jetsam,
The night storm’s spawn.
Smiling faces,
Ice cream cones,
Nature’s essence,
No more by itself, no’ alone.
Clinking glasses,
The sun gone down,
Meals eaten,
A slowly closing town.
Moon struck night,
A vixen call,
These are a few images,
From the west. From Cornwall.
© Simon Woodward 2005 |