The sun shone on the school gala.
Didn’t bring my hat, rummaging
through clothes, this sun is ridiculously hot!
You can barely breathe in this heat.
It’s a scorcher, Mrs Caldwell, too
intense, but what a relief for the school!
You exchanged the lemon drizzle cake for a feijoa preserve, a spicy
ginger creation, relishes too; tomato and beetroot, I think I can tell.
Before, I wasn’t sure where to park the car. Difficult
to find a space. Difficult to squeeze into the space.
Hope to return. Hope to return and find I haven’t got
a ticket. The white elephant: some foot wash, foot cream
and a pumice stone (hardly used). “The cafe is a cafe, the cafe is life,
and a person can either be ruined or survive when
she makes her way through this fete. Whether she makes it or
not depends on a cake and plenty of caffeine-” A coconut
almost toppled onto the parched grass here on the school field,
merited another throw; it’s March and we’ve won a calendar.
You seem to be a Star Wars jigsaw sort of person
and it’s possible that one of these is of interest to you.
On the other table, six porcelain cheese and cake labels.
I’m rushing because it’s nearly time and because I woke up
too early with a headache after last night’s barbeque and a wonderful
riesling or two. One shouldn’t constantly worry, one should not constantly fret,
one should probably observe parking restrictions. A traffic
warden like a lead balloon. The rest is green and red.
A parody of The snow whirls over the courtyard’s roses by Tua Forsström on Carol Rumens’s Poem of the Week blog.