Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Yesterday's Bread

Something of substance the man says. 
Where's the beef? How about bread?
OK, how about this work in progress, 
written last week in Corsica. 
I know, I know, it doesn't rhyme...

Yesterday's Bread

'Everyday but sunday' she says
Glancing over my shoulder
As she counts out change
I am not yet 'of the village'
So have worked my way 
From the back of the queue

Every day but sunday
In the shadow of St Augustin
Crusts offered reluctantly
From the back of a white van
'Voila, you were lucky'
She draws a dark brown oddment
From within, then
Steps to her left
Blocking my view

I bound home with flour on my chest
To find you in the kitchen
Tea cups brimful
Over your shoulder I see
The remnants of yesterday's bread
"Always leave a crust 
To show you're not in need"
Terry's chant
"Waste not, want for nothing"

I am my father's son
So every dawn we test our teeth 
On yesterday's crust
Leaving the soft and fresh 
For tomorrow
You hold me hopefully
As I picture pater
Tight lipped and wanting
Pressing broken teeth
Into the back of his smile

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