Today I will simply post a poem. I wrote it many years ago but it is still a favourite. You are welcome to circulate it and share it with friends so long as my name remains attached to it.
LUNCH
what becomes of them
the red napkin, the soup
her nervous nail polish
tapping the marble table
her insulted mouth
closing on lasagna and salad
the chilled dew of chablis
on her peach coloured lips
her sceptical shoulders
when she speaks
and her skin
shimmering resentment
when he speaks
what becomes of them
when the table is cleared
and she leaves to invent
a life without miracles
- John Davies
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