Greasy spoon cafe
It's not just the icy rain and biting wind that pushes us in
Nor the yellow glow of light through steamy glass
We're lured by the promise of comforting, fat laden food
Tasty, tasty all day breakfasts, burgers and chips
Steaming mugs of tea and non frothy coffee
Simple food we ate in our youth
they even sell liver and onions.
Once inside all senses are satisfied
The bubble and his of the deep fat fryer
The clatter of cutlery cold against skin
The chomping, the chatter
The pungent aroma of everyone's dinners
Eclectic interior design from
Pink standing stone paintings
To a London bus
And best of all the taste
Savoured and waited for
Of unadulterated comfort.
Day 40
School days' Sundays
Sunday evening sinking feeling
Another weekend done
The same old Sunday night routine
Makes me softly sigh
Fill the bath with soapy bubbles
Clean behind my ears
Mum stands ironing shirts and skirts
Shrouded by clouds of steam
Dad's busy cleaning shoes
That pungent polish smell
On telly it's songs of Praise
And last of the summer wine
I'm hiding in my bedroom
Taping the top 40 charts
Tomorrow it's back to school
Alarm is set and checked
Sunday evening sinking feeling
Another weekend done.
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