Promenading along above him
skirting bay and beach, click chickens,
short skirts twirling as he sits taking an
ocean breeze, sipping his Margarita
fingering swizzle stick umbrella
a rainbow patterned divertimento.
Two laughing senoritas all thighs
and plumpness saunter by and frump
goes his swizzle stick, frump, frump,
wind blown miniskirts that sail and
fall —his flicking fingers groping
for a word —‘Brazil’, ‘Flamenco’,
‘exopthalmic’, frump, frump.
And then he has it! An adolescent
finger licking memory; chickens
under the counter, pale and plucked,
transparent shrink wrap gleaming.
Ah, he remembers, finger spinning
obsessively —they used to call it
‘the parson’s nose’ —and then, as if
on cue, he sneezes, the Margarita
spills and as he dabs his trousers
the waitress arrives watched by a pair
of nuns behind her waiting for a table,
and presents his bill.
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© Johnmichael Simon