by Christina Petrides
Flushed from alcohol, wind and weather,
And grooved from age,
The woman clutches her fishing rod and glares at the sea.
It twinkles back at her
And crashes unconcerned into the rocks below.
There’s a pretty man behind the bar.
“May I help you?” he inquires,
Ready to make a drink to our design.
We flock in to order, to admire
The careless scruff on his chin
And the high black bun from which his thick hair escapes.
He resembles some classical character in an old romance
When heroes were roughly muscled,
And yet somehow had perfect teeth and no stink of sweat
After battling bandits and dragons.
In the aroma of freshly roasted beans we dream
That he could be as dashing as he looks.
Watch where you tread
For what seems stable will
You will drop like a whole cherry
Ice cubes that collide
In a fresh glass of bubbling soda.
About the Author:
Christina Petrides is an expatriate American living on a small Pacific island where all the palm trees and the magpies are imported, but the rice wine is indigenous and delicious.