Harvest festival. The falafel light
designed to last, the aftertaste so
delicate. A good black coffee - not
always the way in this era of coffee
branding, claims of superiority.
A family of three next to me; the boy
tosses a cloth ball soft with stuffing;
he would rather play something
than sit watching parents sip coffee.
The ball strikes my handbag, a soft plea.
Our town so small, every enterprise
a hit or miss. The parents snatch the ball
apologise to me; I am mortified. The boy
compliant. No complaint. How trying
this modern numbing of the young.
Everyone who leaves the outdoor cafe
thanks the staff for a good meal.
The neighbouring family leaves, the boy
skipping. I enjoyed my coffee. The staff,
Middle Eastern, look up as I leave.
I thank them. It is the way. Our town
so small, this day a unique opportunity -
to hit or miss. The boy and his ball
carried away, the parents wishing
their son could always catch.