OLD SALT
by Christina Petrides

Old Salt


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.

Barista


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,
Gently mannered,
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.

Precaution


Watch where you tread
For what seems stable will
Disappear.
You will drop like a whole cherry
Falling between
Ice cubes that collide
In a fresh glass of bubbling soda.

About the Author:

Christina Petrides

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.

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