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
Perth Words... exploring possibilities. 