Perth Words… exploring possibilities.

Breakfast at Garfunkle’s
(restaurant - Heathrow)


Scene 1
blond body-perfect She
wears corporate black
casually draped label scarf
her highlight-streaked 
tresses - hair to flick 
and display interest
mobile-phone laugh
every second pause
pouted poised use of
office eyes and mouth
gaze-long sincerity
that familiar dance
with steps well known
moist lips tongue-wetted 
backwards and forwards 
as she speaks intensely
leaning on elbows
she slides amphibiously 
table-hovering forward
(She’s good at this)
focus – focus - focus

Scene 2
His suit speaks volumes
pure wool power black coat draped 
hair distinctively mottled silver
cut just right on the neck
wears no-frame glasses
giving an unmistakable
air of knowledge His
quiet voice and intensity 
reveals someone very
comfortable reaching goals

He orders
She contributes

Soliloquy

this girl will get what She wants
but what does she want
don’t think it is Him
for the long term
uninformed He 
is Step One 
around the middle 
of the ladder I’d say
(croissant comes
coffee poured
‘My – that’s a big one!’)
I almost burst out laughing 
at the obviousness of it all…

Scene 3
Moment of judgement
He reaches over  
jacket pocket
pulls out the ubiquitous
square box
covered with simple 
but stylish green paper
(politically good colour)
matching green card 
attached

fingers fly-feel
size and shape not 
immediately accepted
face re-clothed
‘Oh’ blush, blush, 
‘…you shouldn’t have…’
decide hungry 
hands grasp 
rip the paper
‘Hmmmmmmm’
frown wins again
betrays 
She sees white 
cardboard cover (still) 
jeweller’s box – gauche!

She furiously manipulates 
hands examining 
giving time fractions
disapproving/approving
milking the moment
using all weapons
deep questioning look 
tentative smile
opens the offering
breath explains
softly gasps
with cued drama
held high like
an Academy Award
the diamonds sparkle
in the early morning 
itinerant restaurant
electrical down-lights 

Scene 4
‘Hmmmmm, this is what 
they are wearing nowadays…’
She puts it on – ‘it fits’
leave it there a beat
let him drink the vision
perfect arm held 
by His perfect jewels
pat twice (enough)
show eyes a caress
take it off  - put it back 
in the box on the table
dismissed

‘Cut!’ called
lurking waitress 
interrupts this act of 
Cleaning Agent (Soapy) play… 

Scene 5
She insists
on paying for the meal
making her point
pushing her notes
into bored staff hands
(seen the show before)
scrabbling for change

they are alone again
She continues to flirt
now with a brilliant edge
knows She’s got Him 
but can She still use Him
He obviously 
didn’t give her what 
She expected… this time
but She leans over 
to give Him a quick 
‘Thank You’ non-sexy kiss
desperate He recognizes
makes a gluttonous meal

She leans back
mentally puts her hands 
behind her head
He continues to 
hold fast her hand
trying rubbing 
closed fingers 
possessed by His hand

She slides her glance 
down and away-side 
reaches back 
to put her arm 

through coat sleeve
body to follow
time to go
another meal
something tastier

He didn’t want this 
moment to happen.
He is now no longer 
strong corporate giant
but vine plucking
lover wants more
suddenly realizes
whatever was expected
wasn’t delivered
He stuffed up – failed
She walks out of his life
He will re-grow his hard shell 
and make a mental note 
not to bend again

Music Up
‘Hello Darkness, my old friend… 
I’ve come to talk to you again…’

From ‘Sounds of Silence’ 
 by Simon & Garfunkle.

Epilogue

at the next table 
 our waiter regrets 
‘No pancakes today 
– no facilities.’ 
croissants instead? 
scones? ‘ No, sorry, 
 even toast couldn’t
 – the renovations…
no coffee machine either
no donut machine…’

Oh tragedy!

I look at black and white
photos of war planes
50’s & 60’s stuff on the shelves
the ‘Unattended Luggage…’ sign
all testament to the vacuum of itinerants.


Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

Purely an experiment for my book 'Sketching In Ireland'.   🙂

#SketchingInIreland  #BreakfastPoem  #Heathrow  #Restaurant  #Travel  #Experimental  #ProsePoetry  #PlayScript  #WinterRomance  #SummerFling  #Fiction