A roaring log fire
In the kitchen corner
A large old oak table
Where the family gather
Loud and hungry
For lusty sausages
And salted pork
Cooked on the embers
Home-made tagliatelle
Pasta cooked in cheese
Melted on the stove
Wild asparagus
Flavoured with truffle
Tobacco and woodsmoke
Hustle and bustle
A game show on TV
Leggy brunettes
Keep the men happy
Wine and Limoncello
Coffee as thick as a Sicilian hug
And we are turned out into the cool night
Above the villages of tiny lights
Where we wander amongst
The burning white stars
5 comments:
I wrote this in the Umbrian hills. And a lovely family they were. The grandmother sat in the corner and had to have a whiff of oxygen every half hour on account of her emphysemia. She still smoked though.
She shouldn't sit so close to the fire.
She did burst into flame at the end of the evening...
lovely poem despite image of a wheezy granma bursting into flames. reminds me of childhood fireside chats to old uncle bill as he sat whittling a ferret and telling me all about his ingrowing bunions.
Roger! I have been missing your work. Glad I dropped by this lonely evening, and read everything. Especially 'Loneliness'. I will write s sequel.
xxx
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