Saturday 18th February

170218

I REMEMBER EVERYTHING, BUT NOT QUITE:

The tables are in the wrong places,
Too many empty for a Saturday night,
The best curry house in town,
Always rammed,
I’ve never been here,
Something’s changed,

The waiters are tentative,
Should be striding, weaving & dancing,
Know the names of familiar faces,
The deserts are complimentary,
Alone in the window under helium balloons & streamers,
Untouched,

Women arrive without men,
Order Malibu & diet Coke,
The Men wear football shirts,
Shouting lists of indigenous birds across the room,
Radiant,
Bucolic Kings,
A little pissed,
Impatient,

The food is fabulous,
It’s why we came,
Filled to bursting,
One too many,
Spill into the night,
Stand clutching bills in the middle of the road,
Main road,
Main artery,
Silent as the gravy,
No car,
Nor sound,

Wary young studs watch,
Smoke in mute congregation,
Shiver in shadows at pub doors,
Shoulders hunched,
Knuckles deep as tree roots dug into pockets,

Street lights gorge themselves on darkness,
Silence eats sound,
Nothing moves,
Only the wind,
Blowing a curry fragrance through town.

(K)

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