The bowl filled with hot water
the dishes and cutlery from lunch
await my attention;
But back then
in the days of sixties summers the
beaches beckoned;
A squeeze of the green stuff
to keep my hands as soft as my face,
the glasses first followed by the plates,
careful not to over-do the coarse green back
of the sponge on the china;
And us
hand in hand with our rolled up jeans
strolling where the sea meets sand;
Knives followed by the forks followed
by the spoons and as I look out of the
window the martins fly to and fro
feeding their young;
I can still hear
the noise of gulls and the whooshing of
waves as we ran sideways up the
pebbles trying to avoid getting soaked;
“Where are the clean tea towels” I ask, and
you call out “In the top draw on the right”
When I´ve finished this we´ll sit outside
with a glass of red; funny how our taste
changes over the years;
In those days of sunshine and sand between toes
it would have been Blue Nun or Mateus Rose
and the washing up…
was probable the last thing on our minds.
the dishes and cutlery from lunch
await my attention;
But back then
in the days of sixties summers the
beaches beckoned;
A squeeze of the green stuff
to keep my hands as soft as my face,
the glasses first followed by the plates,
careful not to over-do the coarse green back
of the sponge on the china;
And us
hand in hand with our rolled up jeans
strolling where the sea meets sand;
Knives followed by the forks followed
by the spoons and as I look out of the
window the martins fly to and fro
feeding their young;
I can still hear
the noise of gulls and the whooshing of
waves as we ran sideways up the
pebbles trying to avoid getting soaked;
“Where are the clean tea towels” I ask, and
you call out “In the top draw on the right”
When I´ve finished this we´ll sit outside
with a glass of red; funny how our taste
changes over the years;
In those days of sunshine and sand between toes
it would have been Blue Nun or Mateus Rose
and the washing up…
was probable the last thing on our minds.