It could be Sunday

Outside the Brasserie on lazy
Sunny, summer days
Beneath the white stretched canvas
We sit.
It could be Sunday, but its not
It's just taking time
You sit there with your sunglasses on
Blue shirt, off white slacks
A studied pose that makes me laugh
Casual and oh so cool
Leaning one arm back over the chair
Your body turned to catch the rays
Or is it admiring glances
From the tourists passing by?
The Brasserie cat weaves his way
Beneath the tables
Accepting choo choo noises
And stray hands stroking
He will come to lie in the shade
By the old trough filled with bougainvilleas
One eye ever watchful
Alert to sound and smell.
In the building above
A balcony is filled
With the most glorious array of colour
While Madame leans over
In a cloud of dust as she shakes
Out the red patterned rug
It could be Sunday
But its not




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 552 times
Written on 2013-12-02 at 20:19

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A perfectly framed snapshot. Well done, Elle.
2013-12-07


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
What a complete joy to read, feel and reminisce... Thanks Elle
2013-12-04


countryfog
Summer was nice but I preferred late November - Beaujolais nouveau and cassoulet and Gitanes smoke. I miss those days, as you have so gracefully reminded me.
2013-12-03


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Fabulous word portraiture of le brasserie.

Was it an early Tuesday afternoon?
2013-12-02