Food, Glorious Food

During work hours I eat out of a plastic container,

Cold leftovers

I snatch a bite when I can

as I wend my way through the cafeteria

drawing smiley faces with the squeeze bottle ketchup


Grey burgers

Wobbly fries

Tenders of various origin

Pale bloated pasta

Here and there I hand out napkins to mop up spills

Mr Ben, calls Ayush

It comes out in a spray of roti and rice.

Across the table Hafiz and Morgan are duelling with neon orange cheese doodles

Nothing glorious about this culinary field.

I carefully wipe my hands before I extract my cell phone to check the time

Is it recess time Mr Ben, Quinn wants to know

I smile

But not for recess

I am far away

A deserted island in the late afternoon

Scavenged planks for a table and a bench

wave polished, silver grey

Stacked granite slabs to hold the grill

Lazy smoke from a driftwood fire

The lap of wave

The sigh of the dying westerly

through the fringe of spruce along the shore

the distant roar of the last boats running home

the gulls’ silent drift south to bed down on the outer islands

Salmon with thin sliced lemons and jalapenos in a bag

Set on the grill

Until the lemons are soft and sweet

Garden leaves for a salad

Rocket and lettuces

Basil and mint, tomato chunks and soft white mozzarella

Italian sausages sizzle and spit

Red pepper and garlic,

Fennel and anise

A wild island

The coming night

and food, glorious food