Monsieur Gabardine
I borrow my neighbours car
one of those indifferent Peugeots
that advertising tries to tell us
is zippy in the city,
it is not
but I still manage to park
tail gate sticking out.
The restaurant has blue tablecloths
with matching dark blue napkins
and I'm late of course, I always am
but we kiss nonetheless
enquiring of each others news
while ordering but no booze
I have to drive
and the neighbour wants her car
Returned, I think in one piece.
So the city mouse and the
country mouse sit
amidst a sea of blue.
I metaphorically pull
the straw from my hair
and we share
a Plat du Jour.
There is a man in a gabardine suit
not something often seen
I find my attention, riveted
then hastily look away.
I think of privet hedges
as I munch on
overdressed salad.
City mouse tells me of exhibitions;
I think that gabardine
is an exhibition in itself.
The rest room is an adventure
I put a euro in the tray.
We kiss air, share the cost
Monsieur Gabardine
comes across, leers
he has lettuce caught
between his teeth.
I reach the car,
tear the ticket
off the windshield,
get in
and crank the gears.
I drive through a puddle
glance in the rear view mirror
as Monsieur Gabardine
waves a hand.
An unfortunately dressed man
but friendly, none the less.
Poetry by Elle
Read 648 times
Written on 2014-03-12 at 20:16
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