I want (again) to own an old lighthouse restaurant on the coast, wait for the slow season and sit inside against the pelted window pane, the hurl of the storm gives time for the dance in mind, Push stick upon stick into the hungry hearth and hold up with a window seat to the lashing of the tempest ocean below. I want to serve up the best of food in the good times, watch as summer romance blossoms amongst the youthful staff and pet my tail wagging dog that yes even for this lonely old codger insists someone is out there for me. I unload the new delivery of fish and goods, restock the larder. For me? He yelps, I say yes well, why don’t you go find one for me. These failed mechanics of our relationship always lose meaning in speech, so I give a bit of budge with boot throw a piece of fish down the boardwalk. The dog doesn’t seem to want or need much, Happy to have his food thrown to the sea. James Browning Kepple
Posted on: Tue, 11 Jun 2013 06:09:13 +0000
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