It could be Sunday

Outside the Brasserie on lazy sunny
summer days we sit, beneath the cream
stretched canvas that shields the glare.
It could be Sunday but its not, it's just
taking time out as you sit there with
your sunglasses on, open neck blue
shirt and those off white slacks that
mould exactly to your shape, your
studied pose that makes me laugh,
casual and oh so cool leaning one
arm back over the chair as your body
turns to catch the rays, or is it admiring
glances from the tourists passing by?

A contented cat weaves his way lithely
under tables, accepting choo choo noises
and stray hands stroking his sleek fur.
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 colours
where Madame leans over in a cloud of dust
shaking out the old red patterned rug.
It could be Sunday but its not.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 756 times
Written on 2015-06-20 at 10:36

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nice. I think it must have been Sunday. Perhaps whoever is in charge of the days got them mixed up. A pleasure to read :)
2015-06-21



This simply oozes Sunday.
It is glorious in the descriptive sensuality which you are Mistress of.
I always look forward to reading your work and the cat adds another oh so easy thread to the drifting fabric of this gorgeous poem. You take me there and I feel so, so fine:)
Cxx
2015-06-21


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
It feels like a Sunday to me, and the cat seems a lot like the person in the blue shirt and slacks. I enjoyed this.
2015-06-20