Saturday March 4th, 2017

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: fine dining.

Sold out of loaves today, was only left with some baguettes, epis, cinnamon buns, butter tarts, and macaroons at closing time.

Feeling quite ready to enjoy a few days off.


Honey, this is amazing!
Wherever did you get the cash?
My darling, it's quite simple...
Have you heard of a dine and dash?


Greg said...

You always make me feel hungry when you mention cinnamon buns left over at the end of the day!
Sorry for the erratic posting this week; I was on a course for two days and (of course) work doesn't stop during that time so we all ended up doing about 1.5 times the usual work load.
Plus I might be being headhunted, which is a first for me!
I love the image in your poem today; it's such a beautiful one. I can picture the dining table, the happy couple and the sense of mischief around how the food was obtained... just wonderful! Thank-you.

Fine dining
My mother was a turquoise-clad mistress
Of penny-pinching and dime-finding,
And after seventeen years of scrounging,
She could finally afford fine dining.

Marc said...

Greg - well then, the obvious solution would be for you to come for a visit so that I could ply you with cinnamon buns from the bakery. Obviously.

I hope you've been well recently. Clearly busy, but hopefully also well.

And yes, this is me attempting to get back on track with comment replies. The beginning of it anyway.

Love the story your poem tells. You paint such a clear picture of the mother, and the fact that she's scrimped and saved all those years in order to afford a nice meal out is a delightful touch.