You whispered to me
over the white-clothed table
‘This is a load of overpriced crap’ you said
causing my giggles to explode
in a splutter of egg-fried rice.
An oriental beauty
appeared, dressed in purple with an orchid
pinned to her bosom -
frowning at our mirth.
She pointed to a notice
behind me - just above my head
on the red-flocked wallpaper.
‘Please be respectful of other diners’.
You caught my hand
as I dropped my chopsticks.
Under the table, removing my stilettos,
you slipped one shoe in each of your pockets.
before the bill appeared.
My thoughts still run.
Never quite finding
the place we found, collapsing
in giggles and covered in spilt rum
from the flagon you carried with you.
And perhaps, still do.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Andrea Bowd
would be pleased to hear them.