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A Sunday Afternoon
Remember that Sunday afternoon?
Cajun calamari for lunch at The Brass Bell and then
We drove all the way down to Cape Point on a whim
I had made you that Cat Stevens CD with all your favourites
His voice trailing from the open windows, our fights and tensions
Left behind for the day, replaced by your singing and my laughing
The gates of the reserve were already closed by the time we got there
"It’s okay" we agreed, "The drive was lovely enough."
The cliffs stepped out of the late spring sunlight into the ocean as we headed back, your one hand on the wheel
and the other searching for mine. Making light conversation along the way, we were keen to save the mood.
"Would you like me to stay the night?" You asked tentatively as we got back to my place.
It’s funny, I’ll always fondly remember us buying tomatoes at eight o’clock on a spring Sunday evening.
Wow, this is as beautiful as it can possibly be. The evocation of both presence and place is deftly and skillfully accomplished, and the experience of both of the characters crosses easily into the reader's imagination. This is one of the best poems I have read here, the exact opposite of the Muse poem that you have also posted today.
Starward
A Sunday Afternoon, sounds like a very enjoyable time. If only these times could be captured and put in a bottle,
and preserved. I enjoyed the read very much. Good work.
I have read more of your poems, and also enjoyed them.