next to me
under a flowered bonnet
a few sizes too small
the sharp edged coffee as it dances
ever so often with his gelato’s velvet glaze
a slow, sultry serenade of taste
he savors along - all the while
Van Gogh’s sunflowers are chain smoking ciggys on the park bench next to us
and the Herbarium is trying, desperately, not to cough.
(she’s so polite)...
I’m just sitting here,
for a ride
pretending to watch the lawnbowling.