Eighth Day Cafe Day 12 - Senses poem

Eighth Day Café

I expect Dominic Berry to echo from the walls,

to be reflected in the tables

as Manchester’s Premier gay, vegan poet.

There was a time Dom was at every event

I stood and quivered at,

and I wish I bought a ticket for “Wizard”.

I miss him with his overblown actions,

his genuine pleasure at seeing a familiar face.

I wish I was one of the appreciative horde

singing his praises for once.

As I taste the faint lentil

of Aduki beans in my tomato soup

I hear him recite “Tomorrow, I WILL go dancing”

and I have my Dominic fix

My chlorine hair and my resolve to eat well

after a kilometre breast-stroke

bring me to this place

like a friendly, sparsely-lit school canteen.

I write with water-wrinkled fingers

under the table,

watch as people at the tables interact in the old way.

A “student” reading text highlighted with orange marker

to match his hair and the patches on his jumper

that I suspect are not a fashion statement.

As I finish my beetroot and hummus roll

and drain my organic apple juice

I crave sex, chocolate and deep-fried chicken

am tempted to upturn the sea-salt onto my tongue,

stuff my mouth with butter pats.

I crave the kerdinck of Twitter and BBM.

A noisy, dancing group of eight staff

enjoy a group hug and their smiles

infect me

I leave carrying a smile

and faint scent of Aduki beans

to St Peter’s Square tram-stop

Sarah L Dixon   NaPoWriMo  - Day 12 Senses poem